


Through Time I Found You

by taecheeks



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Anal Sex, Bottom Liam, Bottom Zayn, Everyone is Scottish, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor Violence, Outlander AU, Past Violence, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-01-27 13:00:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 140,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12582484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taecheeks/pseuds/taecheeks
Summary: “I swore to ye I would keep ye safe,” Liam says as if Zayn should have known this. He lifts one of Zayn’s hands, pressing a soft, wet kiss to the center of his palm.It is innocent, but heat trails down Zayn’s spine as Liam’s eyes meet with his. “And I’ve wanted ye since the moment I first laid my eyes on ye.”[Or the one where Zayn travels back in time to 1744 and is captured by a group of Highlander Clansmen.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!! I have been obsessed with Outlander by Diana Gabaldon, books & show, and I really enjoyed writing this! Well, I'm still writing it because it has gotten a lot longer than I originally planned lol. If you've watched/read Outlander, I followed some major plot points but there is a lot I changed - there are (major) triggering things that I left out. (If you want to read/watch Outlander and are worried about the triggers, feel free to message me!!!). If you see I have left a tag out also please feel free to message me! It has been so long since I have posted a proper fic I was having a major brain fart while tagging lmao. 
> 
> Thank you so much Jaya for editing and reviewing!! It means the world.
> 
> Enjoy reading! <3

There is a shift in the air, just a moment of something different, so fleeting that he doesn't even waste a thought on it. Not until later, that is, when he spends too much time thinking about all the little things that led up to his life being turned upside down. 

Zayn shivers, a layer of gooseflesh sprouting over his arms as he edges his fingers over the smooth indents of stone. The air is cold and damp, signaling a rain storm soon to come. Not that he is surprised -it has rained more times than he can count since he has came to Scotland. 

It reminds him of home, if that is what England is to him now. He has moved around quite often, town to town, country to country, for nearly his whole life. But he has been to England more, and he was born there, so it is the closest thing to a home that he can think of. 

Zayn stills with his palm flat on the hard, cool surface. A distant buzzing sound hums underneath the sounds of nature around him. It grows louder, but there is no hive or any bees that he can see.

He moves slowly away, his hand trailing over the stone in his wake. The sound only increases in volume.

A thought fills his mind that he should back away from the stones. But before he can even move his hand away, a terrible feeling washes over him; nausea, all over, even in his toes. Malaise, or at least what he has expects malaise to feel like, since it is one sensation he thinks no one can understand until they _do_ feel it.

His gasp is strangled. Invisible strings tug him in different directions but he never moves. He feels as if his feet are glued to the ground before the stones, his chest tight with suffocation. He thinks of his sisters, the way their mouths fall wide open as they laugh, and an ache like he has never felt before pours through him. 

All of a sudden, the feeling ends. Zayn heaves as his knees hit the ground, his fingers fisting into the tall blades of grass for something to steady himself. 

The grass hadn't been this tall a moment ago. He slides his hands through the blades in wonder, breathing heavily through his nose in hopes of calming his erratic heart and the lingering ache.

He had thought of his sisters. He always knew they would be his last thought before death since they were the only happiness in his life. But experiencing that fear of never seeing them again now has his hands shaking so badly, they could fall right off. 

The sound of chaos diverts his attention away from his confusion. Distant shouts and a rumble of stomping makes his heart beat faster. He can't see much from where he is kneeling, but something tells him not to stand up. 

Zayn scrambles back as the noise grows louder, crouching low behind one of the stones. He is careful not to touch them again, too afraid of that horrible feeling he had felt only moments ago returning. 

“Can ye make it, Liam lad? Ye look as if ye might topple righ’ off ye horse!”

Zayn hides behind the stone as the rumbling sound - the sound of horse’s hooves, he realizes - stops. 

Zayn’s breath feels just as harsh as the horses’ huffs as boots land heavy on the ground. He wants to curl into himself but he also wants to sneak a peek around the stone. Aunty always told him to trust his gut instinct, no matter what. And right now his gut tells him something is seriously wrong, but he doesn’t _understand_ the feeling.

There is a loud thud, as if something even heavier has hit the ground, and the commotion of urgent-sounding words he doesn't understand tells him that this Liam man has indeed toppled right off of his horse.

With only a moment of hesitation and many attempts at convincing himself that this feeling of dread is just a result of the stone, Zayn stands and peers around the rock. 

There are six men all clad in raggedy, dirt covered clothing. Shirts that are maybe white under all of the grime, tucked into kilts he recognizes from the local Highlander museum. Clothing that is just as old-looking as the handles of the weapons each man has tucked on their person in various places.

“I dinna need help. I’m just - “

On the ground amongst the men is another, laid flat on his back with his arms curled around his chest. Even from a few yards away, Zayn can see the blossom of red staining the sleeve of his shirt.

“It dunna help he is barely healed from Malik’s lashings. Ye could bleed out lad!”

The name sends a chill down Zayn’s spine. _Malik_. Surely they aren’t speaking of him, but the chill flows through him and makes him freeze harder than before. _Run, run, run_ chants loudly in his mind but his feet stay planted to the ground.

“Dunna say his name,” the man on the ground half shouts and half groans. He breathes heavily through his nose, harshly panting out his agony.

Zayn wants to roll his eyes as he watches the man shove away any help even though he can’t manage standing up on his own. His arm is badly misshapen around the hinge of his shoulder - it’s clearly dislocated.

“Shove it back in then, and throw ‘im on the horse. We canna stay here unless one _you_ laddies would like to take a bullet!”

“Aye,” the man on the ground groans, “That should do it.”

Despite his reservations, Zayn finally reveals himself with urgency. Half of the men look confused or uncaring, and the other three look as if they are trying to break the man’s arm right off.

“You will break his arm that way!” Zayn says in a rush. He had spent the last six years as a combat nurse overseas, trained to work in stressful situations. It is a routine he knows well, one that will distract himself from his situation.

Because this, by far, is a stressful situation.

A drawing of weapons stills his urgent movements, his hands half way into the air in surrender. The looks on the men's faces are a mix of threat and alarm but their heads are cocked in a curious manner. 

“Who are ye?”

“A nurse,” Zayn spits out, hoping his voice sounds less shaky to the men than it does to his own ears. He flicks his fingers towards the man squirming on the ground. “I can help.”

A man with reddish brown hair and a face that looks as if it could be as soft as a child’s, save for the glaring eyes, steps forward, a small knife held out tightly in front of him. There is dried blood smeared on his shirt.

“A nurse? I canna say I have ever heard of a lad wet nurse.”

The man’s eyes drop away from Zayn’s face and settle across his torso.

_ Wet nurse? _ Zayn freezes, wracking his mind to understand. It could be a role play, given the attire the men wear. But the man on the ground has a true wound, and he can't imagine people actually taking role playing _that_ far. The confused curiosity the leader displays as he stares as Zayn’s bony and very flat chest could he faked, but he doubts it. 

“Healer,” Zayn tries. His Aunty has spoken of Highlander healers before, always fascinated with the practice of medicine before the advanced technology today. She even read about old suspected witchcraft, but Safaa found that more interesting than he did.

He pushes that thought away. Showing anything that could lead people to thinking you are a witch is dangerous.

“Let me take a look at that man’s wound.”

The man in front of him doesn't lower his weapon, but he cocks a brow. “And why would ye wanna do that? It was one of yer red coat friends that did this to him.”

“I fight with no army,” Zayn announces, tilting his chin higher to appear confident. He has role played before, though under much different circumstances. “I wear no uniform.”

The man cocks his head and makes a grunting sound. “Aye. What is it you're wearing then?”

Zayn glances down at his crisp white shirt, tucked into his slacks. He had foregone the tie because he was only going to climb the hills to the stones of Craigh na Dun today, no tie required. Not until after, when he hit the bars. The manager at the hotel he has been staying at had been picking on his casual look every time he attempted to go out. She always sent him back up to his room to change into something else. 

At least he is not wearing the starter jacket he had on this morning, he thinks with relief. 

“Clothes.”

“I ken they are clothes, Sassenach. What I mean is-”

The man on the ground let's out a groan of pain as he tries to sit up straight. He falls onto his back, clutching at his elbow with a strained face as if he is trying not to show pain.

“Horan, let the man tend to the boy,” says another man with long, curling brown hair falling over his shoulders. He steps up to the leader, sending a quick glance to Zayn before whispering something into his ear.

The first man grunts out again, this time one that sounds a bit like an agreement. He finally lowers his weapon, only to point the blade from Zayn to the wounded man. 

“Get him back on his horse. And be quick about it, isna safe here. I dinna want yer friends to find us again”

Though not feeling any safer, Zayn makes his way to the wounded man with only a few glances at the weapons the other men hold. He falls back into the tall grass, his back prickling in warning as he hears the crunch of their shoes but not their movements.

The wounded man flicks his eyes open, revealing pools of gold and brown irises. Everything about him is strong, from the sharp of his jaw coated in a brush of blond and red hair, to the expanse of his shoulders. His eyes are surprisingly trusting, though he flinches the moment Zayn touches his arm.

“Let me see then,” Zayn whispers as he tries to coax the man's fingers away from his arm, “What happened?”

“A bullet,” the man says, his voice strained, “Knocked me from my horse.”

“What is your name?” Zayn continues, remembering to distract the patient with small talk as he does his work. An attempt at keeping them calm, he had been taught, during the times when they couldn’t access morphine.

The man lets out a noise that sounds half painful and half amused. In other circumstances, Zayn would be intrigued by a man who could still smile whilst in excruciating pain. “What is yours?”

Zayn stills for a moment. Surely he can’t tell them his last name, not after how they had spit it out with such distaste only moments before. “Zayn, uh...Brannan.” 

The man tenses as Zayn’s fingers tug at the fabric of his shirt to reveal the wound. “Ye don't sound sure about that.”

Zayn grimaces. It is his mother’s maiden name. The name of the family he had originally came to Scotland to research. Over the last few years he had been tracking both of his parents’ lineage, attempting to know something - anything - about them. “What is yours?”

“Liam,” is all the man says before resting his head into the grass.

Zayn eyes the blood slipping over his fingers. Real, warm blood. There is no way it could be a role play. 

“How did you come across a bullet wound, Liam?” Zayn asks as he tears a strip of cloth from his own shirt. 

The corners of his mouth lift slightly before he chokes out a cough. “Ye heard the men. Red coats. A bit sore there from fallin’ off me horse. Makes me forget about the bullet.”

Zayn moves his fingers over the misshaped round of Liam’s shoulder after he finishes the bandage. “One of you men come hold this man still.”

Liam’s brows push together in confusion as Zayn slides his hand under his head to help him sit up. He keeps his fingers there, threaded through Liam’s coarse hair while two of the bulky men kneel beside him. 

“I have to put the bone back in place,” Zayn instructs, securing his hands on Liam’s arm the way he had been taught. He had only done this a few times before, and in the moments before pushing in, he never trusts he has enough strength in his arms to complete the job. 

“Ready?” Zayn asks. Liam barely has his lips open to respond before Zayn is shoving the bone back into the socket.

The other men don’t wait long for Liam to recover before they are shoving him onto the back of his horse and Zayn in front of him. His thin legs straddle the expanse of the dark mahogany back, clenching slightly to keep his body sitting up straight rather than resting against the hard chest behind him.

They ride in silence mostly, only the other men around them speaking. He picks up their names, Horan, Harold, Rupert, Ned, Paul, and Paddy, but the rest is spoken in another language, one he had thought died out in Scotland.

“So,” Liam finally says, the suddenness of his voice in Zayn’s ear nearly making him jump from the horse’s back. His voice is smooth, like honey dripping from a container and into the warm liquid of tea. “Brannan. O’Braonain or Mac Branan?”

Zayn doesn't respond. That is what he had been trying to figure out before all of this.

“Ye dunna ken? Just a British man with the first Scot name he can pull out of his arse then?”

With every hoof padding against the ground, Zayn considers he is moving farther and farther away from his idea of this being a role play. And if it is one, the men around him are far too dedicated. He wants home, wherever that may be. 

Everything is too dark and too quiet. There is no light other than the moon shining down, no rumble of cars or of life, close or far. He had enjoyed how quiet Scotland was compared to Bradford, but this kind of quiet makes him feel far from the world. 

“Talking less might help speed up the healing process,” Zayn says as he runs his fingers over the short hair of the horse. As much as he hates a stranger this close to him, he feels as if he would topple from the horse’s back if it were not for Liam’s one good arm supporting him. 

Behind him, Liam grunts. A noise that sounds amused. Zayn hates the grin it brings to his own face.

“Talking will help me forget about the pain, ya ken.”

Zayn stays quiet for a moment. Liam's tone is soft, as if giving away a secret. Maybe he is one of those men who won’t admit they are in pain even when they’re dying because of it. “How is that only you suffer a wound? And none of the other men?”

This time, it is Liam who stays quiet. It feels like forever before he finally responds. Zayn starts to lose track of time, but the drowsiness starting to settle over him tells him it must be quite late into the night. 

“Personal, I expect. The lot of us were roundin’ about some cattle -”

“Ah,” Zayn says with a click of his tongue, “Someone else’s cattle?”

Liam makes another throaty noise. “Aye. Though I think it is always personal when a Brit pulls a rifle out on a Scot.”

Zayn wishes he listened better to his mother’s stories of home then. It is something he has been thinking about a lot lately. He has been searching for anything that makes him feel as if he is still with her. He had been too young back then, too interested in other things than boring stories from an old person. 

“I think so as well.”

“Dinna go pulling a rifle on me, Sassenach,” Liam responds with a hearty laugh, “I am plenty grateful for yer tending to.”

“That is a needless worry, Liam. I am not dumb enough to pull a weapon on anyone while surrounded by six other men.”

*

Zayn finds it easy to fight off the urge to fall asleep against Liam’s chest, despite the exhaustion that weighs heavily on him. The jolt of the horse and the constant fear of the situation he has fallen into makes him feel as if he has consumed twenty cups of tea.

Day breaks and falls again, without a stop longer than just relieving themselves. He and Liam talk very little, nothing more than Zayn asking about his wound. Liam had been letting out painful noises and then lying about them or telling Zayn he is simply hearing things. 

Despite being in Scotland for a few weeks, Zayn finds himself unsure of his whereabouts. Every now and then they pass a landmark he thinks he recognizes but, when darkness falls, there are nothing but shadows surrounding him.

After what feels like weeks - though the reasonable part of his mind tells him it is only the second nightfall - a restlessness settles over the Highlander men. An excited, or maybe relieved, restlessness that is soon explained when Liam whispers in his ear.

It makes him jump, the suddenness of Liam’s lips against his skin. “Their home, Castle Leoch.” 

Though Zayn doesn't recognize the castle that comes into view, lit up by torches of fire lining the stone walls, he remembers the name of the crumbling used-to-be castle he had explored only a few days before. 

Castle Leoch, home of the Clan Horan. Lead by Gregory Horan during the ‘45 Uprising, which ended in most of the Highlander clans being destroyed. He had traced his mother's family to a generation after, and found some indication his mother’s six-times grandmother resided here in the eighteenth century.

He had hoped he would return again, but under much different circumstances. Maybe with his sisters, since his youngest sister used to love stories of kings and queens. Not with a group of strange, dirty men. 

“Not your home, then?” Zayn asks, resulting in a grunting noise from Liam that doesn’t answer the question.

People stream out from the castle, dressed in clothing he had only ever seen in pictures. Zayn freezes on top of the horse. Role play or not, this place no longer exists like this. He knows -

“Off ye go,” a voice beside him says, and it takes him a moment to realize Horan is suddenly beside him and speaking to him. 

Zayn grabs the man’s calloused hands, allowing him to help him off of the horse before they both attempt to help Liam off. Liam resists with great effort, resulting in Horan speaking something to him in another language that is clearly threatening.

Liam lands on his feet and shoves Horan away with his good arm. “I am fine, Nialler. Get yer grubby hands away from me.”

Horan - Nialler, barks out a laugh that confirms Zayn’s earlier suspicions. His face lights up brighter than a child's when he smiles. 

“Nothin’ weak about being injured,” Nialler tells him with a hard clap to Liam’s good shoulder, “Get on inside, fetch Missus O’Braonain to tend to the Sassenach.”

The light fades from Horan’s eyes as they scan over Zayn. An uneasiness coats his stomach but his heart leaps into his chest at the name.

“Bridgette O’Braonain. Any relation?” Liam asks as he cups Zayn’s elbow to lead him towards the castle doors. His legs feel like jello after such a long ride, and he is thankful for the support.

“I don't know,” Zayn murmurs quietly. His heart feels like it is trying to start a race with the horses around him.

“Ye dunna ken your family?” Liam asks, surprise in his voice, “I ken cousins so distantly related we could marry.”

Zayn lets out an awkward laugh after glancing at Liam’s amused face. He has never been a good liar, ever. He had once asked a boy he had lived with for a time, Danny, whom he called the Master of Lies, how he lied so easily.

The answer had been simple - to Danny, at least. “Just make it enough truth that you're barely lying.”

“My parents died when I was young,” Zayn says after a moment, “I don't _ken_ much about them. Just their names and, uh, blurry memories of their faces.”

He is going to say he feels like he wouldn't remember them without his photos, but he isn't sure the time he is in has made any advance with photography.

_ The time he is in. _ It's a truth deep down, he knows, but his mind struggles to agree with it. 

“I apologize,” Liam says, all amusement from his face gone. His hand slips from Zayn’s elbow to his lower back, guiding him through the stone arch entrance.

The room is lit by the dark glow of candles, casting shadows across the stone walls. Zayn tries not to stare around in amazement. When he had last visited Castle Leoch, the walls were crumbled and covered in vines and cobwebs.

“Liam, oh laddie, what have you done?” 

Zayn fails at his attempts to not stare at the woman that bustles over to them and frets over Liam. Her wide, brown eyes are filled with worry and her hands work frantically over his arm before cupping his cheeks.

Her face is more narrow and coated in a blanket of deep wrinkles, but he knows the shape and set of her eyes. It is one of the same traits he and his two sisters share from their mother.

“I have been well tended to Miss O’Braonain,” Liam says softly. He presses Zayn closer to the woman, indicating him with his chin. “Zayn Brannan, healer. Niall asked that you help him settle in.”

The woman leaves Liam alone and grabs for Zayn instead. Around them, other servants move around to tend to the returning men. He wonders just how many people call this castle home, and if it is as small as the ruins Zayn had visited. 

“Right this way then. And you can call me Bridgette, I have told the young lad that more times than I can count to!”

“Yes ma’am,” Zayn says, weakly, trying to keep up with her scurrying.

She turns to him, eyes dragging down the length of him. Her nose upturned, brows furrowing the same way Horan’s had, though at least she breaks into a soft look when their eyes met again.

“In here, let's find you something something, um, more comfortable. Would you like a bit o’ lavender in your bath?”

*

The exhaustion of the last two days catches up with Zayn soon after the bath Bridgette insists on giving him, despite his many protests. He can barely keep his eyes open the moment he sits on the massive bed. It is surprisingly comfortable and Zayn quickly forgets his strange surroundings.

It doesn’t come back to him until a few moments after waking up and trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes. He jerks up into a sitting position at the sound of someone rustling in his room.

Bridgette is there, clothing in her hands that she lays on the end of the bed in a rushed manner. It all floods back into the front of his mind, making him feel a bit dizzy. 

“Up you go. The laird has requested your presence.”

Zayn just watches her. _Laird_?

“Of Castle Leoch?” Bridgette says as she grabs his arms to remove him from the covers. “Laird Gregory Gallagher Horan.”

Zayn nods in understanding. He has always hated the mornings, and he tries not to be annoyed with Bridgette’s cheery spirit and insistence on dressing and grooming him again.

He is thankful afterwards, as he takes in his appearance in a milky glass mirror. He has seen clothing from the time he now thinks he is in. The eighteenth century, if his memory is correct, but he isn’t sure he would know how to put himself together appropriately. He wonders how the men would have reacted if they had found him in jeans and the multicolor jacket Safaa had bought him. None of them seemed to react to the hoops in his ears, though. 

“Your hair is quite lovely,” Bridgette says as she watches Zayn stare at himself, “Why ever did you cut it?”

Zayn wants to run his hands through it insecurely but he doesn’t want to muss it up after Bridgette spent so much time tending to it. “I never have.”

Bridgette makes a _mhmmmph_ noise that reminds him of Liam. 

He had forgotten about Liam until now and it causes an uneasiness in his chest. The Highlander hadn’t seemed too concerned with being careful with his injured shoulder.

“How is Liam? I mean, erm, Mister - ?”

Bridgette’s eyebrows fly high into her hairline. The familiarity of his sisters’ eyes is uncanny and that worry in his chest quickly turns to a wistful ache.

“Mister Gibbons is well, laddie. Now come on, canna keep the laird waiting.”

The castle is much busier in this part of the day. The halls are filled with rushing servants or groups of men wearing the same garb as the cavalry that had escorted him here. Soldiers, perhaps, who watch Zayn walk by with curious eyes. Or suspicious ones, Zayn considers, from the way the hairs on the back of his neck stand up whenever he passes by them.

Everyone they pass greets Bridgette O’Braonain with an air of respect. They all refer to her by her surname and listen to her quick scoldings without complaint. There are more children than Zayn had expected, all running up to Bridgette to fist into her skirts as she tells them what chores need to be done. 

“I see you command this castle,” Zayn remarks.

Bridgette giggles, patting him on the chest. “Aye, and the laird knows it well. Come on then, in here. Master Gregory should be around shortly.”

It is a small room that Bridgette leaves him in. A library, or perhaps an office, he can’t be sure, but there are shelves full of books with titles he can’t read and a desk with papers scattered across it. This room, at least, has a window. Though a dirty, milky one, it allows enough light in for Zayn to see all his surroundings without a lit candle. 

Zayn peeks at the closed door as he slides his fingers over the papers, nervous about being caught, though if they were important, he doesn’t think they would just be laying about. He can’t read much of the scribble either, written in a language he recognizes as Gaelic, but he can read the date at the top.

_ August 5th, 1744. _

Zayn’s heart drops into his stomach as his mind forces itself to deal with the truth he has been trying to deny. This isn’t his time, but almost two hundred and fifty years earlier.

He doesn’t understand how he got here, and worse, he doesn’t know how to go back. 

The door opening makes him snatch his attention quickly away from the papers to take in his visitor. The man before him is quite younger than he had been expecting, but the straightened set of his back and the tilt of his chin gives him an air of importance that makes him appear older.

“Mister Zayn Brannan, I am Laird Horan.”

Zayn cups his hands in front of him, bowing slightly while praying that he is greeting the lord as respectfully as he should. Should he take his hand? Is that a thing during this time? 

“I hope that Misses O’Braonain has tended to you well?”

Zayn nods. “Very well. Thank you for allowing me in your home.”

The man’s face is impassive but his dark eyes rake over Zayn in a way that makes him want to flee to Craigh Na Dun without a stop, regardless of not having a plan. “I don’t wish to keep you from the morning meal, you must be starving after your journey here.”

Zayn only nods again. Is _sir_ proper? Your Highness? Laird? He wishes he had paid more attention at the museums. Or in school. He doesn’t remember learning much about this time in his history classes. 

“But I would like to ask you a few questions about why you are here, and why you were at Craigh na Dun, alone.”

The truth, or enough of it that it makes sense, Zayn reminds himself. There is something about this man that says he is not a forgiving man if lied to. 

“I was looking for my family,” Zayn starts with an unsteady voice, “my parents died when I was quite little and I was hoping to find their families. I’m afraid I don’t know where to start other than _Scotland_ in a general sense. I know little about clans and that.”

Gregory Horan states at him for what feels like hours before he finally nods and moves closer. “Where are you from?”

“Bradford, England, sir.”

Zayn praises himself silently that _sir_ causes no bad reaction from Gregory. But his narrowed eyes still make uneasiness wave through him. 

“My brother told me you are quite the healer. We could use a healer here at Castle Leoch. While we help track down your family.”

A chill so cold his hands start to shake rushes down Zayn’s spine. He can’t possibly stay. He needs to return to Craigh Na Dun, to his time, to his home, his sisters. Soon - today, preferably, but a denial of Gregory’s request seems like the worst possible way to do that. 

“I’d be pleased, sir.”

The Laird nods again, his lips flickering into something like an attempted smile. “Verra weel. Misses O’Braonain will show you the dining hall and show you to the infirmary. You are a guest here, Mister Brannan.”

“Until you decide I am not,” Zayn says. He bites his tongue hard afterwards. He hadn’t meant to say it, but he knows the laird and his men are suspicious of him. He understands. It is a year’s time away from a war between the British soldiers and the Highlanders. That is part of history he knows something about. The innkeeper had just talked his ear off about the Highlander men dying for the Pretender to the throne, Bonnie Prince Charlie, a week ago.

The smile on Gregory’s face appears more genuine before he turns to leave. “I hope you give me no reason to decide that, Mister Brannan.”

*

Zayn feels much more relaxed in the company of Bridgette, though he can’t stop his panicked thoughts. He tries to distract himself with her teachings until he can have a moment alone to figure out a plan, but the kind woman rarely leaves his side throughout the day.

He is aware of the men’s eyes on him, especially the presence of one man he had traveled with the days before, everywhere he goes. He knows he shouldn’t be surprised if Gregory has ordered someone to keep an eye on him. The men had probably been happy to oblige, they all look at him as if he is an enemy ready to strike at any moment. 

Except Liam. With Liam, Zayn doesn’t feel as if a pair of eyes are trying to strip away every part of him in search of the truth of who he is. They are kind eyes, a warm brown that are always lit up, even when Zayn pokes and prods at his wounds.

The infirmary has no windows, only lit by the candles lining the walls and sitting across the tables. It makes working difficult, but Zayn thinks the light in Liam’s eyes is bright enough to make seeing in the dark easier.

Zayn glances at Liam, feeling his face grow hot at the thought. He is attractive, there is no denying it. Strength radiates from him, from the sharp features of his face to the expanse of his chest and the width of his arms. Zayn kind of really loves the color of his eyes, and the red speckles in his beard. But he can’t afford to think about it.

“Alright? You looked as if you’ve come down with something suddenly.”

Zayn feels his face grow warmer and he pulls his eyes away from Liam to focus on the bandaging. “Yes, I am quite alright. Are you?”

“Aye,” Liam says with a smile that makes his cheeks bulge over the corners, “Been through worse.”

“Worse than a bullet wound and a dislocated shoulder?”

Liam laughs at Zayn’s shocked face. “Remember I said it was personal with the man who shot me? Bit o’ history him and I. I had been accused of thievery -“

“Accused?” Zayn interrupts, remembering Liam’s story of the “taking” of the cattle.

Liam laughs. “And found guilty, if you believe it. A bit o’ lashing for the punishment and Malik, Captain in the British Army, held the whip.”

Zayn bites the inside of his cheek in an attempt to not react to Liam’s easy way of speaking of something so _barbaric_. But with a glance at Liam, he sees the other man is looking away from him, seemingly lost in thought.

“Seemed to enjoy it, he did. Though unhappy with my unwillingness to scream.”

Zayn falters over the wound, causing Liam to flinch. He hadn’t traced any of his lineage to the British Army, or to England this far back. A few generations before his father, he had traced his family back to Pakistan. “Sorry, I -“

“No need,” Liam says softly as he cups his hot palm around Zayn’s forearm, “So aye, worse than a bullet wound and dislocated shoulder.”

“All this time I thought you meant it was personal because you stole the man’s cattle.”

Liam barks out a laugh that ends in a wince. Zayn needs to make a sling, but Liam had been fidgeting too much that bandaging the bullet wound had taken up a great deal of time. “No, Sassenach.”

“You were lashed not too long ago,” Zayn comments as he takes the belt Liam had been using as a sling on the table, “I overheard the men when we first met saying those wounds might not be healed yet.”

“Dunna worry, they are,” Liam tells him. 

“Would you like me to -”

“No,” Liam says firmly, jerking back from Zayn’s touch as if Zayn was going to rip off his shirt and stare at his back and reopen the wounds, “I told ye because I ken there would come a time you would have to see them. But it is not now.”

Zayn nods, lips pressed together as he holds the belt up to show Liam why he is touching him. Thankfully, Liam relaxes and lets him create the sling. “Expect to be in the infirmary a lot then?”

Liam’s smile returns. “Aye. I used to avoid it. The last healer was an old man that smelled wicked and was a sore to look at. I avoided coming here for my wounds to be tended to. Went to Horan - Niall, that is, instead.”

Zayn pulls the belt tightly, avoiding looking at Liam. “Well, I hope I am better than your smelly healer.”

“Better to look at too,” Liam says, his voice as quiet as the flickering of the candles around them. Zayn feels the burn of Liam’s eyes on the side of his face, or maybe it is just the heat rushing up into his cheeks from Liam’s comment. 

“Alright, Mister Gibbons. Remember, in two days time you may begin to use your arm again. But slowly, yes? If it hurts, stop. If you need me to change the bandaging, you know where I will be.”

Liam stands with a nod. “Thank you. See you for Hall, tonight.”

*

Zayn doesn’t know what to expect from Hall. Bridgette dresses him in a suit, he thinks, complete with a scarf wrapped a million times around his throat. It is uncomfortable at first, but he fingers it carefully as he looks in the mirror, pleased with his appearance.

The dining hall is filled with a crowd on each side of a pathway leading up to the chair Gregory sits in during meals. The table is moved behind it, and Niall stands beside the chair, hands clasped in front of him. Gregory’s wife sits on the other side. Her son is not there like he was in the morning -  little boy, maybe four at the most, with much kinder eyes than his father.

“Brannan.”

Zayn flinches at the suddenness of a body beside him. It is one of the men Zayn is sure has been ordered to follow him around. The louder one. There is another man he is suspicious of following him as well, but he is so quiet Zayn rarely notices him.

Ned, however, chats up everyone around him. He laughs so often Zayn barely acknowledges it. He is around the same age as himself, a good foot taller, with a body so thin Zayn can’t understand how he makes it as a soldier.

“Ye run like a duck, lad.”

“Excuse me?” Zayn whispers. The hall is quiet, only a buzzing of hushed whispers. 

Though Ned is young, there are wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that don’t disappear when he stops smiling. “Ye ran from me. Didna think I would catch up, did ye?”

Zayn grins back. “Well, I reckon you’ve been so bored watching me tend to sickly old women and bruised children. I thought I’d add some excitement to your life.”

Ned laughs excitedly, elbowing Zayn hard in the side. “Aye ye did! thought I’d be the one to report back to Nialler that we found something on ye. Rupert and I have a wager goin’ on about who would find your truth first.”

Niall. Zayn had thought it was Gregory who had ordered Ned and Rupert to follow him. He looks up at the younger Horan brother, his face hard lined again. 

Until Liam walks up beside him, Paddy behind him. The only time Zayn has seen Liam without Paddy has been in the infirmary. Niall’s face breaks instantly as he claps Liam on the shoulder and whispers something in his ear. 

“Cousins,” Ned explains, pointing to Liam and Niall from behind Zayn, “The last Laird Horan was the older brother of Liam’s mother.”

Zayn turns to Ned in surprise. “Liam is a Horan?

Ned nods before putting a finger to his lips. “Gregory is here.”

Zayn turns back to the front as Liam and Paddy walk away from Niall, who straightens his back, his face hardening again. 

There is little similarity between the two brothers, save for the shape of their eyes and their tough expressions. Zayn is surprised to see Gregory smile as he greets the people before him.

He doesn’t understand much of what is going on. Ned whispers explanations in his ear; disputes between farmers and landowners mostly. There are angry men clearly complaining but Ned doesn’t translate these ones. He merely laughs under his breath or makes a tutting noise with his tongue here and there.

The whisper of the crowd around him quiets as a man walks down the path to the Laird Horan, dragging a young boy about twelve by the ear. 

Whatever the man says, it causes a stirring in the crowd. Liam tenses visibly, whispering urgently to Paddy who turns on Liam alarmed.

“The boy stole some bannock,” Ned explains, a surprisingly sad tone coating his words.

Zayn looks over the boy, noticing the state of his clothes. Worn and scattered with holes, Zayn wonders if he stole the bread out of hunger. The little one is trying not to cry, but there are tracks of tears breaking up the grime covering his face and his bottom lip quivers.

“Oh, ye stupid bastard,” Ned grumbles.

Liam pulls away from the warning hand Paddy has on his good shoulder with ease. He approaches the man with the boy before turning to his cousin with a deep bow.

Liam speaks in Gaelic, gesturing between the boy, the crowd, and himself. The uncomfortable stirring becomes worse, as does Ned’s disapproval. Spoken in Gaelic, but Zayn can tell whatever he is saying he wouldn’t say it the same way around Bridgette. 

“What is he doing?” Zayn whispers without looking away. The little boy is pulled from the view of everyone, but before he disappears Zayn can see that his attempts of not crying have failed.

“Liam’s taking the punishment. Normally a hand, but Gregory isna going to cut off the hand of one of his best soldiers.”

Zayn turns to Ned, horrorstruck. “Cut off his _hand_? For stealing some bread?”

“Aye. What is the punishment for thievery in your country?”

“He was probably hungry!” Zayn whispers angrily at Ned. 

Ned nods, face grim. “That baker canna care when it is money lost for him.”

Zayn turns back around, curling his arms over his chest in frustration. There is a flicker of worry in his chest. Less a flicker and more of an outpouring of worry, but he refuses to acknowledge it because he has only known Liam a few days.

Liam stands tall, chin tilted as Rupert approaches him. Zayn flinches when Rupert moves in anticipation of a blow, but he only wipes his hands down the front of his kilt before tucking his fingers into fists. 

The first hit against Liam’s abdomen has Zayn clenching his eyes closed and whispering a silent prayer that Rupert knows enough not to hit Liam in his bad arm.

Liam doesn’t make a sound, nor does the crowd. All Zayn can hear is the echoing sounds of fists slamming down. It seems to last forever, and Zayn can’t see anything other than the back of Liam and the way he jolts the few times he manages to keep his eyes open. Niall and Gregory remain impassive, but the squint of Niall’s eye every time Rupert hits Liam is enough of an indication that he too is affected by this.

“Get it over with,” Ned grumbles, agitated. Rupert pulls his arm back, his fist raised higher this time and Zayn closes his eyes before the sound of a loud crunch and Liam’s grunt of pain fills the room. Liam has stood rooted to the ground this whole time, but the echo of a thud indicates he has fallen to the ground. 

“Best get on to the infirmary,” Ned urges with a hand to Zayn’s back, “Ol’ Bridgette no doubt will bring him there before turning to rage on the Laird. Like a dog with his tail between his legs when it comes to her.”

Zayn watches as Liam ignores the hand Rupert holds out to help him up even though he struggles. He turns then, pushing through the crowd with only a thought in the back of his head as to why Ned doesn’t follow.

Ned had been right. After only a few moments alone in his work place, Liam comes shuffling in with an angry looking Bridgette dragging him along.

“A valiant thing you did, you big ol’ fool,” Bridgette grumbles, ignoring Zayn as she shoves Liam into a seat. Her face softens as she pats the one side of Liam’s face that is not swollen, “Not everyone’s bruises are yours to take on.”

Bridgette huffs out of her nose like a horse when Liam doesn’t respond. It is hard to look at him, his face swollen and bleeding. Zayn tries to focus on his job, not his worry, as he settles in front of Liam to help him strip off his shirt. Bridgette moves off to boil some cloths for his open wounds. 

Liam tenses, hissing through his teeth as Zayn slides the shirt off with his fingers brushing over the hot skin of Liam’s shoulders. He watches Liam’s face for a moment, not wanting to see the damage of his torso.

“Doesna feel too bad,” Liam groans. Zayn slides his fingers down the length of Liam’s arm until he’s tugging the shirt from his hands. 

“Would you like to explain your need to get beat up while still healing from a bullet wound?” Zayn tuts as he pulls out the part of the shirt that is tucked into Liam’s kilt.

Liam’s lips quirk before he winces at the pain in his face. “Just to see you again, Sassenach.”

Zayn snorts. He isn’t quite sure what _Sassenach_ means still, but the others say it in a way that sounds degrading, and Liam manages to say it in a way that sounds like a fond pet name, like babe, or honey. “Well, Mister Gibbons, there are simpler ways to do so. Stop by for lunch, or just to say hello. Help me find these herbs the last healer stuffed messily into the cupboards.”

“Aye,” Liam says, “I will keep that in mind.”

Zayn lets out an irritated noise. Fist sized bruises are starting to blossom underneath the thin layer of brownish red hair on his chest, and stain the sides of his abdomen. Zayn touches the tender skin gently, pressing in here and there, examining for anything broken or seriously damaged inside.

“Rupert didn’t hold back on you, Mister Gibbons.”

“S’not Gibbons,” Liam seethes through his teeth when Zayn presses down too hard, “M’name.”

Zayn flicks his eyes up to Liam’s face, twisted in discomfort. He hears Bridgette return, though he hadn’t been aware of her leaving.

“A bit more to the story of me lashin’,” Liam says with a grimace, “I got away before they could again. Price on my head, ye ken.”

Zayn walks away to peer into the kettle over the fire lighting up the room. 

“I trust the men inside the walls, but no so much the people in the villages,” Liam goes on. Zayn has his back turned to him and Bridgette as he removes the cloths with careful hands to allow them to cool before cleaning Liam with them, but he can hear the warning tone of her whispers.

“So a different name it is then,” Zayn adds, as if he can’t hear whispers. He wouldn’t be surprised if Bridgette is suspicious of him too, even though she seems so kind and warm towards him.

“Aye,” Liam says. 

“Why tell me?” Zayn asks as he turns around. He wrinkles his nose as he watches Bridgette place black-looking slugs to Liam’s bruises. “I know some of your men think me a spy.”

“Hate the name Gibbons,” Liam laughs, but Zayn suspects it is only a half truth.

When the cloths are cool, he approaches Liam again, taking Bridgette’s seat in front of him. Up close, he can see the black things are actual leeches. Zayn feels his stomach jump in disgust.

“Good for the swelling,” Bridgette explains in response to Zayn’s expression of horror. “Take them off when you’re done, I will return after I have a word with the Laird.”

Liam’s eyes follow her out, and after a moment of making sure she is gone, he pulls off the leeches and tosses them into a bowl Bridgette had placed on the table beside them.

“That woman runs this castle more than the laird does,” he says in amusement.

“I have noticed,” Zayn chuckles. It is easier to tend to Liam’s face with the leeches gone. He hadn’t been sure his stomach could handle it.

Liam remains still as Zayn pats the broken skin on his face gently with the cloth, careful not to rub too harshly. 

“They were going to take the wee lad’s hand,” Liam says after a moment, breaking the silence between them. “I ken Gregory wouldna take mine.”

Zayn takes in the way Liam’s face moves as he speaks. The jump of his eyebrows, the way his eyes smile though his mouth doesn’t. His plump lips moving around each word.

He pulls the cooling cloth away with a sigh. Liam is attractive, and Zayn wants to punch him and kiss his cheek for taking a sacrifice for a child. But he is also a thief, amongst other things, for Clan Horan that Zayn doesn’t want to know about.

Not to mention that he is living in a time two hundred and fifty years before Zayn’s own. He can’t think about Liam in any way, especially not about how attractive he is.

“What is it Sassenach?” Liam asks. He curls his fingers around Zayn’s wrist, stopping the movements against his cheek. 

“What is Sassenach?” Zayn says, trying his best at the accent.

“English,” Liam says with a grin, his fingers still curled around Zayn’s wrist. “Outlander.”

Zayn wrinkles his nose, pulling his wrist away from Liam. “Turn around. Let me see the damage to your back.”

The light flickers away from his face as Liam grabs for his shirt, a warning to keep Zayn away from his back. “Rupert did not wound me there,” he says quickly before gesturing to the leeches stuck to the bruises on his torso. “Help me take these off, would you? And then I will be on my way.”

Zayn helps by watching Liam take them off, too grossed out to touch the leeches himself, and by helping him slide his hands into the sleeves of his shirt. He buttons it slowly, eyeing the expanse of Liam’s chest and fighting off the urge to slide his hands over it. 

“If you wish to see me tomorrow,” Zayn says, as he does up the last button, “Bring food. Not more work for me to do.”

Liam dips his chin in a nod. “Yes sir.”

*

Zayn spends most of the earlier parts of the day in the gardens around the castle, searching for herbs. The infirmary has many things inside of it, things that are strange to him and things he isn’t quite sure how to use. He lived with a foster parent who believed medicine was just as dangerous as the disease it was supposed to treat. She had loved anything herbal or natural to take care of wounds and sicknesses. And then there was his Aunty, with her love of history and medicine. He tries to remember it all. 

He isn’t confident he is doing well, so when he returns from the gardens, he goes over the notes from the last, smelly old nurse the Castle had had before him. 

Rupert is there with him, sitting on the stairs leading down to the infirmary. He is quiet, but Zayn is aware of his presence. He tries to ignore it, but the bubble of anger he has towards Rupert is hard to ignore.

“I’ll take over here for now, if ye will.”

Zayn pulls his eyes away from the notes at the familiar voice. A moment later Liam descends from the stairs, a basket in one hand. The swelling has gone down in his face, but the black and blue bruises look grotesque.

“Food,” Liam greets, holding the basket up so Zayn can see, “As you commanded.”

Zayn gestures a chair for Liam to sit. “Are you ordered by Niall to follow me around as well?”

“No,” Liam says, his lips flinching with amusement, “But I thought I might be of better company. I could use some air, if you’d like.”

Liam takes him into the yard, following a different direction than one Zayn has gone before. In the distance, Zayn can see the wooden horse stables. Bridgette has mentioned looking for Liam there before. 

“You work with the horses?”

Liam nods, eyes squinting as the sun shines down on them. There’s already a tightness in Zayn’s skin from the sun exposure earlier. “Spend time with the dogs too. They linger about the stables but never wander inside. Do you like dogs?’

_ I love them, _ Zayn almost screams, but he only nods his head. Under the sun, the strands of red in Liam’s hair and beard are more prominent. He wonders if the hairs on his chest would too -

Zayn considers slapping himself in the forehead. He has made little progress on finding a way out of this castle and to the stones, and being distracted by Liam isn’t going to help him any. 

The most he has done is wander the grounds, taking in the guard detail, and wandering through parts of the castle trying to remember the layout and find possible exit points. It has been discouraging. Castle Horan is extremely guarded.

“Would you take care of them while I’m gone?”

Zayn jerks. “Where are you going?”

“Niall is going to the towns in three weeks times to collect the rent,” Liam explains. He plants a hand to Zayn’s back as the ground inclines, “I can leave Paddy with ye to ensure no harm comes yer way.”

“Do you think I’m in harm’s way?” Zayn asks in confusion. He wants to push Liam’s hand away all of a sudden. He is perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

“I dunna ken,” Liam admits, “Niall has ordered no harm to ye, but with him gone it would be easier for someone to get away with it if they were to try.”

“Well,” Zayn sighs. He is a bit breathless from the steep hill, but that doesn’t mean he can’t take care of himself, just that he is a bit out of shape. “What a great mood we have set for our lunch.”

Liam’s fingers linger on his back as he laughs. He takes off ahead of Zayn towards the stables, still laughing. 

There is a man in the fenced in area, guiding a horse around by it’s harness and grunting out commands. Liam nods his head in greeting. 

He reaches behind him, taking Zayn’s hand into his own. “Follow me. Watch your feet.”

Zayn does, squeezing Liam’s hand. It is calloused, his palms harder than the other men’s. “Were you a farmer?”

Liam looks over his shoulder, his thick brows furrowed. “I grew up on a farm,” he says. He keeps a grip on Zayn’s hand as he lets Zayn walk into a stall first. The ground is cleaner, and though it is still coated in a layer of hay, he doesn’t see any drippings. A hole cut into the wood allows the sun to stream in. “We had servants, but me da always made us work too. He wouldn’t order someone to do something while we were capable and doing nothing.”

“Your hands,” Zayn tells him, as he sits cross legged. He takes the basket from Liam as Liam sits beside him. In corner, he notices a pile of clothes and boots and he wonders if Liam sleeps here. 

He takes Liam’s hand into his own, hesitantly, flipping it over to run his thumb over the hard skin of his palm. “Farmer’s hands.”

The corner of Liam’s mouth rises as he turns Zayn’s hand over in his own. “Your hands are softer than a woman’s. Isna an insult, Sassenach. Soft hands are better for treating wounds than hands so rough they create wounds of their own.”

Zayn watches the thick of Liam’s eyelashes brush against the top of his cheekbones as Liam watches the way his finger rubs over the lines of Zayn’s palm.

His heart leaps in his chest, his skin on fire. It is just a simple touch, but it feels as if Liam is touching every inch of him. His skin feels so hot he is afraid he might burn the hay beneath him. 

Despite what Liam says about rough hands, his touch is so soft Zayn can barely feel the roughness of his skin. The hairs on his arms stand up, and he hopes Liam doesn’t see the gooseflesh that pops up over them.

“What was your farm like?” Zayn asks quietly, ignoring the warnings in his head that he should just get up and leave right now, find an exit to the castle, and hope for the best.

Liam’s thumb rubs over the inside of his palm before letting his hand go completely. “My father owned the land, but there were other families. My home had no animals, only dogs. I tended the water mill, rolled hay, and delivered it to the barns. He would send me all over Lallybroch to help others in their farms. What was your home like?”

Zayn doesn’t answer as Liam hands Zayn a piece of bread. He has lived in many houses after his parents died, jumping from orphanage to foster homes. There weren’t many people willing to adopt three children, and Zayn wasn’t willing to leave his sisters. The family they were with the longest, Danny’s parents, had moved around too. He has never lived in one place for more than a few years.

“Tiny,” Zayn answers. His stomach growls as he takes a bite of the bread. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was, probably from all the internal struggle. “My sister and I shared a room. The walls were light blue.”

He can feel Liam staring at him as he speaks, but he doesn’t look up at the other lad as he speaks about the small bits he remembers from when his parents were still alive. 

“No animals, though there were a few cats around that would walk up to you and rub against your leg if you had food in hand. My sister would pet them too roughly and they would screech and run. Scratched me up a few times.”

“What is your sister’s name?” 

“Waliyha and Safaa,” Zayn says. That ache in his chest returns, mixing with a determination to return to them.

“You miss them,” Liam starts hesitantly, “Did they -”

“No,” Zayn says quickly, horror filling him at the thought, “I just don’t like being away from them.”

“Do they look like ye?”

Zayn finds himself grinning. “A wee bit. Safaa is younger, her cheeks the kind of round that makes you want to squish them. But I think as she ages she will look more like Waliyha and me.”

“I must meet them,” Liam says with an amused seriousness on his face, “To see with my own eyes that there are three people that exist with such beauty.”

He says it so easily, eyes twinkling, that Zayn just stares at him unsure as what to say. Thankfully he doesn’t need to come up with a response as a face pops up in the entryway of the stall.

Zayn has seen her around the castle in the kitchen and sometimes trailing after Bridgette. The  round of her cheeks remind him of Safaa but the girl in front of him is older than his sister, only a few years younger than himself, and her hair is not nearly black, but a light shade of brown.

Her brown eyes bounce between Zayn and Liam. “Sorry to bother you, Mister er - Gibbons, but the Laird’s brother asked me to find you.”

Liam wipes his hands on his pants as he nods. “Did he say what for, Sophia?”

The girl’s cheeks grow red. “No, I stumbled upon him and Harold arguing and he told me to find you.”

An annoyed look crosses Liam’s face, an expression that looks wrong on his normally bright features. “Thank you, Sophia. Excuse me, Sassenach.”

Zayn nods, biting hard on his bottom lip to stop himself from attempting to help Liam up as he struggles to do so with only one arm. He no longer wears the sling but he wonders if there is discomfort still bothering him. 

“Keep Mister Brannan company, would ye lass?”

Sophia turns frantic eyes on Zayn. “I should accompany you, Liam -“

“I can manage on my own,” Liam grumbles before walking off and leaving them alone.

It is awkward the way Sophia looks over the stall, like she is unsure of what to do. She had been clearly wanting to walk with Liam, but he had shot that down and Zayn isn’t even sure Liam had noticed. 

“I should head back to the castle,” Zayn says as he stands and wipes the stray pieces of hay from his pants, “Before Mister Horan finds me without any of my hired shadows.”

Relief crosses Sophia’s face. “I think he will be most preoccupied after his quarrel with Harry to notice.” 

Zayn quirks up a brow. “What were they arguing about?”

Sophia follows after him as he weaves through the stable, eager to gossip, Zayn thinks. “Well, Harry seems quite upset that Mister Horan is to leave for rent. Word has it he won’t allow Harry to travel with them.”

“Well why not?” Zayn asks. Harry had been with the group of people who had found him in Craigh na Dun. The man who convinced Niall to allow Zayn to tend to Liam. 

“Those around the castle may accept and respect their relationship, but I dunna think Mister Horan expects the same from the villagers.”

“Harry and Niall?” Zayn asks, blurting the words. He has seen them around each other plenty of times, but he can’t remember ever seeing them even interact. Not much more than a few words, at least.

“Oh yes, sir,” Sophia tells him, “I’m surprised you havena heard the gossip whilst in the kitchens.”

Zayn shrugs. He could take his chances of running now, he doesn’t think Sophia will try to run after him. But she looks like a yeller, and he doesn’t think he would make it very far if she alerted the guards. “I must confess I don’t listen to much.”

“Then you havena heard they say the same about Mister Gibbons?” 

Zayn falls quiet as they descend down the hill. Going down hill always feels just as hard as going up. “He has a relationship with Harry too?”

Sophia cackles at this. “Oh no. Well, I dinna think so. Mister Gibbons refuses to take a wife, and they say it is because he’d rather take a husband.”

_ Don’t think about it _ , Zayn tells himself mentally. He needs to push his attention away from Liam, and he had never thought about the other lad’s sexuality until now, not really. He doesn’t want to, either. He just wants to go home and think about the sexuality of his attractive neighbor like he did before, when life was less confusing.

“Maybe he just doesn’t have time to take a wife,” Zayn offers, “Or maybe he does want a husband. Not sure it is anyone’s business but his own.”

Sophia’s eyes go wide. “I didna mean to offend, Mister Brannan. Just curious if you had heard the gossip.”

Zayn softens. He wonders if they gossip about him this way and not just about whether or not he is a spy for the British or not. “You didn’t, Sophia. And no. I prefer asking questions if I have suspicions, not gossiping.”

“Oh I couldn’t!” Sophia exclaims, flustered. Her cheeks burn red again. “He might think -”

Zayn waits for her to finish, but she doesn’t. After a moment he excuses himself to head to the infirmary. 

There are a few patients there waiting for him when he returns. He ignores Ned who rests against the wall in front of the entrance, his arms crossed over his chest and a mishievous grin taking over his face.

“Oi, Brannan! Enjoy your meal with the young lord?”

“I don’t talk to shadows!” Zayn calls over his shoulder before slamming the door shut behind him.

*

The next week is uneventful, and his hopes to escape become even more discouraged. Sitting with the men in the dining hall, he learns of the guard posts stretched for two miles past Castle Leoch in every direction. There isn’t a way for him to leave, not without being escorted. 

He doubts anyone would help him. He may spend time tending to every scrape and bruise and his patients are thankful for it, and Liam may visit him every day and seem to enjoy his company, but they are still all strangers. He is a _Sassenach_ , after all, suspicious eyes still follow his every move.

It is easy to forget that is how people feel about him when Liam sits in the infirmary with him, though. Zayn thinks he only comes to give Ned and Rupert a break from their duties, but Zayn doesn’t mind. If he has to be here, he’d rather spend his time with someone who he enjoys spending time with instead of sitting in the kitchens, listening to gossip and watching his shadows drink more port than they weigh.

“We leave in five days,” Liam says as Zayn munches on something sweet Liam  had brought for him. “I think we should hold off a few days. Niall is distracted, ye ken. But he moved the date up earlier.”

“Fighting with Harry,” Zayn says with a grin. Liam looks alarmed but his lips move to match Zayn’s. 

“Aye, so you’ve heard. Isna secret, but Niall doesna like people feelin’ like they have a right to say their opinions to him. The Laird’s brother, not a soul here would question him or try to temper him, but his personal relationship with Harry seems to be an exception to that.”

Zayn wrinkles his nose. So much has changed between this time and his own, but not everything. “I was taken in by a family when I was younger. One of the only homes where my sisters were not with me. They had a son, a bad child. Always getting into trouble for stealing, fighting for no reason. I was disciplined more for my fancying of the neighbor boy then he was for stealing _from_ the neighbor boy.”

Zayn looks down at the pastry as he pulls it apart into little pieces, causing some to drop onto the desk he eats over. It falls silent for a long moment, except for the loud thoughts in his head. 

Not many of his foster parents understood, nor were they quiet about their disapproval. Waliyha and him fought over it once. She had been upset that they had to find a new home again because Zayn brought a boyfriend home, which is why he requested a home away from his sisters. But he did it again, and again.

A sadness tugs at his heart. She has apologized ten times over for it, though Zayn doesn’t need her to. She had been little and scared. 

“I fell from the horse today,” Liam says suddenly. Zayn chances a glance at him, but can’t read the expression on his face. It isn’t the response Zayn had thought he would after revealing he fancies men.  “Niall wants approval for me to ride out with him. From you.”

Zayn nods, dropping the pastry onto the desk. Falling into doctor mode makes it easy to interact with Liam sometimes. He doesn’t think about touching him or analyze everything he says. Though when Liam first strips his shirt, his heart stutters a little in his chest and he has to force himself to think about something else. 

The bruises from the Hall have completely faded, and after much examination, Zayn had determined nothing internally had been harmed. His bullet wound has mostly healed, and Liam moves with little to no resistance. His shoulder only bothers him when he falls asleep on it. 

(In the hay, Zayn suspects, but Liam denies that he sleeps there.)

“Where did you fall? Not on your shoulder, I hope,” Zayn says after a moment of looking for any sign of injury after Liam strips his shirt. There are no bruises, and he rubs two fingers over Liam’s skin while watching his expression to see if there are any bruises he can’t see.

There is no light in Liam’s eyes, only hesitancy, before he turns. Zayn clamps his mouth shut, taking in the expanse of scarred skin in front of him. 

Zayn forgets for a moment that he is searching for bruises from a fall. There is no unmarked skin on his back. Thick, raised scars criss cross over every inch of him. 

“Can I touch you?” he asks quietly. Liam’s head is turned over his shoulder, but his eyes are diverted as he nods.

Zayn gently rests his palm against Liam’s back, feeling the skin underneath quiver under his touch. He pushes down on the raised skin here and there before he has Liam raise his arms, causing the muscles of his back ripple and the muscles across his shoulder blades pop.

“Any pain?”

“Not much,” Liam says. One thing he has learned about Liam is that the man will never admit to pain so Zayn has stopped asking. He listens for it in the tight of his voice and looks for it in the tension of his muscles, instead. Liam’s back is tensed now, but his voice is warm and quiet. 

Zayn watches his own fingers as they slide over the indents of muscles and the raised scars. That sadness in his chest doubles as he remembers what Liam had said about the silent way he had taken the lashings. He had told him he had escaped before they could lash him a second time, but Zayn doesn’t understand why they would. His skin is already ruined with at least fifty lashings. That, already, is too extreme of a punishment for stealing.

“Why are you showing me?” Zayn whispers. Liam had been very careful about not letting Zayn see his back, He hadn’t realized it at first, but it became clear quickly since Zayn had to move around his back to put the sling on before. 

“You revealed a part of yourself, and now I have too.”

The words are soft, and Zayn isn’t quite sure what to make of them. Liam has told him a lot about his life. His home, his family, being in prison, and in Castle Leoch. He doesn’t know his last name, or very many personal things about him, but Liam has revealed more to him than he has revealed to Liam.

“I hate to interrupt but here I am.”

Zayn yanks his hand away from where he had been tracing the scars on Liam’s back before turning to see Niall making his way down the stairs. He doesn’t know why his face burns so hot. Many patients have stripped more than this in front of them. He has seen more of the men in this castle than he would ever have liked. 

“Welcome,” Zayn greets, bowing slightly. “I am almost done with Liam’s examination, but I think he will be okay to ride.”

Niall looks past Zayn at Liam for a moment before nodding.. His face isn’t hard, but there are dark shadows under his eyes that make him appear sickly. “Thank you, Mister Brannan. That is good to hear.”

“Nialler,” Liam greets as he pulls on his shirt. Zayn doesn’t help him button it again this time, though his fingers itch to. “Told ye I was fine.”

“Aye,” Niall says in annoyance, but he grins, “How did ye hurt yerself again?”

Zayn stares in confusion, looking between Niall and Liam. Their eyes are locked, one pair amused and narrowing. The muscle over Liam’s jaw jumps as he grits his teeth.

“I fell… off a horse.”

Niall lets out a loud, amused snort. “I have ken ye for my whole life lad, and I have never known ye to fall from a horse.”

Zayn admires the wrinkle that pops between Liam’s eyebrows. He isn’t sure what point Niall is trying to make, but there is clearly one that Liam is trying to avoid being said out loud. 

“Why have ye come to interrupt, cousin?”

Somehow, the smile on Niall’s lips make the bags under his eyes appear even darker. “I just spoke with my brother. He grants your request. I thought ye’d like to know.”

If Zayn isn’t mistaken, Liam looks uncomfortable. He flicks his eyes between Niall and Zayn, mouth parting for a moment before he clamps his lips and bends forward an inch in a bow. 

Niall raises a brow, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Mister Brannan, I would like it if ye would accompany us as we leave to collect rent. I would like a healer with us now that Harold is joining, and Liam here has requested ye travel with us. I think since he is now suddenly falling off horses, he feels better with you there to fix him up.”

Zayn looks at Liam for an explanation but Liam avoids looking at him altogether.

His way of being escorted past the castle’s guards. This is it. He had been searching for it with no luck, and now the Horan cousins have just laid it in his lap.

“I would be very pleased,” Zayn says, with a bow mimicking Liam’s. 

“The O’Braonain family lives on Castle Leoch lands,” Niall continues, still looking at Liam with amusement, though he is speaking to Zayn. “Speaking to them might help you find those who knew your parents. Bridgette would be the best to ask for a head start.”

“Thank you kindly,” Zayn says. “Did you need tending to?”

Niall frowns at him, making his face scrunch up like a pouting child. “I havena been sleeping. I dunna suppose you have anything that clears the mind?”

“Whiskey,” Zayn offers.

The war chief stares at him for a long moment before he bursts out laughing. “Aye, plenty o’ that.”

Niall gives one last nod before leaving Liam and Zayn alone. Zayn looks to Liam, who still seems a bit nervous. He avoids eye contact, but he glances at Zayn out of the corner of his eye a few times before speaking.

“I hope it is okay I requested you come,” Liam says, after a moment.

“Why did you?”

Liam’s smile is soft, but his cheeks still round. “When you speak of your sisters, it is with such sadness. I hope to help you find your family so you may return to them sooner.”

Zayn reaches out, taking Liam’s rough hands into his own. He doesn’t know why it matters to him, but it does, and that is another truth deep down that his mind is struggling to agree with. “So you believe who I say I am is true?”

Liam nods. “I believe there are things you do not tell us about yourself, but that is true about all of us.”

It is enough, Zayn thinks. “Not an outright lie like your story about falling off the horse?”

A deep red travels from Liam’s throat to his cheeks. He flips Zayn’s hand over in his to touch the center of his palm. “I dinna fall,” he starts quietly, an embarrassed smile on his lips. “Not off the horse.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your feedback from chapter one has meant so much, it really makes sharing so enjoyable. I hope you enjoy this chapter too <3

Zayn hates being on a horse again, but he feels an overpowering sense of relief as soon as he steps outside of the castle’s gates. He doesn’t care if they would have had to catapult him out of the castle, he is just glad to be away from it.

Up till now, he has been able to breathe normally, but when he takes a deep breath of the woody, scented air, he feels as if he has been struggling to get air into his lungs until this moment. There are more guard posts to come, and he is still surrounded by men who do not trust him, but there are no stone walls around him, so he is thankful.

Ned rides to his immediate left and Liam to his righta few feet ahead. There are twenty of them in total, including men Zayn has only stumbled across whilst in the castle. No one speaks to him or speaks in English, leaving him to his thoughts of his mother’s soft eyes and the songs she used to sing to lull him to sleep. Liam interrupts them sometimes, but never loudly. Zayn is just more aware of him than he realizes, noticing every time Liam’s horse slows down  enough to travel beside him or when he turns to look at Zayn from over his shoulder. 

They travel until it is dark, mostly through the woods, until the tops of the trees block out the moonlight and make it difficult to ride. They stop at a tavern a few miles past the first village, a brick building with stables surrounding the sides and enough torches along the face to break through the darkness of the night.

Liam is to the side of him within seconds, a hand out to help before Zayn can even consider getting off the horse himself. 

“I don’t need help,” Zayn says, but he takes Liam’s hand anyway.

“You look as if you would much rather eat grass than ride a horse,” Liam explains, with a laugh.

“I’ve heard grass isn’t so bad,” Zayn grits out, as his boots hit the ground with a thump. Liam’s hand is steady on his elbow, keeping him from tumbling backwards.

“Aye, isna so bad. Doesna really fill the belly though.”

Zayn cups Liam’s elbow too, so their arms are aligned as he stares up at Liam with wide eyes. “You’ve eaten  _ grass _ ?” 

The other man huffs out a laugh, staring down at his foot which he drags along the dirt. When he looks back up at Zayn, the flames from the torches shine in his eyes. “Aye. After I escaped the prison there was no much to eat.”

Zayn pulls his touch away from Liam, feeling his heart sink in his chest. He hates the idea of Liam being lashed, barely healed with the fear of his skin being reopened, and now also starving at the same time. He wipes at his front, ridding himself of any stray horse hairs until he can swallow down the thick lump in his throat and speak again. “I am afraid of heights.”

Liam laughs harder as he rubs the back of the animal fondly. Though they have only known each other a short time, Liam’s hair has already started to grow longer and curlier, his beard thicker as well. 

He wonders how Liam would react if he reached up and rubbed his jaw just to feel the coarse, prickly hairs of his beard, because the urge to do so is getting harder to resist. Would he be offended? Disgusted? Or would he fall still, like he always does when Zayn touches him? Would hetake Zayn’s hands into his own and look at Zayn’s palms like there is something fascinating about how soft they are?

“It isna verra high, Zayn.”

Zayn crumples his face, unable to respond. It feels like it is very far off the ground when he is on the horse, but while standing beside it, it doesn’t seem that high at all. He refuses to admit that, though.

Liam glances at the rest of their group, who have grown more and more rowdy since the moment their feet hit the ground. He has seen enough suggestive gestures from the men to understand what they are so excited about. “The rooms are on the top floor. Too high for ye?”

Zayn attempts to slap Liam playfully on the chest, but Liam’s arm darts out quick as lightning to block him. His fingers curl around his wrist, thumb held over his pulse, before he holds Zayn’s hand to his chest. 

“It is quieter up there,” Liam says with a tilt of his chin, as if to indicate the rooms, but he keeps his eyes on Zayn. “Ye will be sleeping on rocks and dirt for awhile, might as well enjoy yer lonesome and a soft bed while ye can without being surrounded by these men trying to get off with the local women. S’not pretty, I swear to ye.”

Zayn stares back at Liam. Is he implying something? Or is he merely concerned for Zayn’s fear of heights and his beauty rest? Is Zayn thinking too much? He has been lost in thought for nearly the whole day. He had worked too hard to keep those thoughts from straying to Liam, though, and he isn’t going to give up now.

“But pick a room away from Harry and Nialler, they will keep you up through the night,” Liam continues. “The make up after an argument is worse than the fight, if ye ken my meaning.”

“And what will you be doing, Mister Gibbons?” Zayn asks. He flattens his palm on Liam’s chest to feel the steady heartbeat underneath. The shirt he wears is not very thick, and the night air is a bit cool, but he burns hot under Zayn’s touch. 

“Drinking,” Liam grins, as he lets his grip on Zayn go all of a sudden. Paul approaches them and Liam hands the reins of the horse to him. “Bit o’ whiskey or port for the Sassenach?”

Inside the tavern, there is a stretch of tables both long and round. There are a few people lingering about before the Clansman of Clan Horan enter the bar, crowding it and making the inside seem ten times smaller than before. Stairs line the wall to one side, where Zayn can see at least two floors of doors that must lead to the rooms.

Zayn sticks close to Liam. He tries not to turn  his nose up at the dirty looking glass Liam hands to him and he braces himself for the strength of the wine he can smell before he tastes it. 

“Dinna go and drink too much,” Niall says as he plops himself down across from Zayn, “or ye wilna be steady on yer horse tomorrow. Ye came to fix Liam after falling off horses. We have no one to fix  _ you _ .”

Niall’s face is bright now, his eyes gleaming as he drinks. The bags under his eyes are gone but a few purplish bruises stain the length of his neck. Harry brings over a plate of bread and cheese, placing it between them. 

“We dunna want a brawl if one of the men try to escort you to your room,” Harry says as he plops himself down next to Niall. His hair isn’t loose today, but tied into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He too has a happy face, but no bruises on his neck. Zayn hasn’t spoken to him much, but whenever he has seen him in the castle or the gardens, he had been smiling.

Harry sticks to the kitchens mostly, working with Bridgette. Sophia had told him he was son of a servant, a baker, and Zayn had wanted to ask if that was a part of the gossip surrounding him and the Laird’s brother. 

“A brawl?” Zayn asks, glancing at Liam for explanation. No one had bothered him at the castle that way, but he had also been watched all day by soldiers hired by the same man who ordered that Zayn not be harmed. 

Niall tilts backwards, nearly falling off the bench as he laughs, an infectious sound that has Zayn smiling through his confusion. 

Liam’s face is redder than he has ever seen it. Zayn feels the urge to place the back of his hand to his forehead to feel for a fever but he reminds himself that Liam always runs hotter than normal. “Aye, Nialler, might be you I have to fight. These are not my men.”

Niall shakes his head, waving his hand in front of him in a fit of laughter. His face grows red too, from the force of the sound, but Liam isn’t sharing in the amusement. It takes the war chief a few moments to catch his breath before his words start making sense. “Oi, lad, to Clan Horan.”

Liam eases some as he lifts his mug to where Niall’s is raised. The rest of the clan grunts it out too, and with Harry nodding at him in encouragement, Zayn lifts his mug too and chants along.

The pub grows even more crowded as Zayn sips at his port, which is probably strong enough to have him falling off of his horse after only one or two glasses. The sickly sweet smell of perfume fills his nose as more women join them, and someone starts playing a bagpipe. It grows so loud in the small room that Zayn wonders if even the castle, though a day's ride away, can hear their celebrations.

“Ye shoulda seen Liam as a wee lad. Duckin’ under skirts and slidin’ under tables to get away from his da when it was time for a whupping.”

“That is a lie, Nialler,” Liam laughs, pointing his mug at Niall, “yer talking about yerself. My da only whipped us a second time if we didna stand still and take our punishment. My da didna make his servants do it, neither.”

Zayn watches Liam’s face glow with pride as he speaks of his father, even though he is speaking of the times his father had spanked him. 

“Right you are, Liam. Niall ran straight into the kitchens every time,” Harry chirps in energetically, “tears streaming down his face and a need for something sweet.”

Niall shrugs before throwing an arm around Harry’s shoulders to pull him close. Harry appears to be quite taller than Niall, but they still manage to fit together like this. He doesn’t seem too concerned about the eyes of the few villagers around them, but that could be because of the the amount of liquor he has guzzled. 

“Somethin’ sweet is right,” Niall murmurs as he curls a finger under Harry’s chin.

“I thought you grew up on a farm, not at Castle Leoch,” Zayn inputs, diverting his eyes to give Niall and Harry as much privacy as possible in such a crowded room.

“Aye. But my ma and I visited every few years before she passed,” Liam tells him. He plops his empty mug on the table before raising his hand high into the air to wiggle his fingers for four more. “And just my da brought me after.”

Zayn swallows the last of his drink. He has never liked wine because of the heaviness of the resulting drunkenness. He isn’t drunk yet, but his body is growing warmer. He knows that once he is halfway through the next mug, that heaviness will come at him full force and make it hard for him to keep his eyes open. He wonders what Liam would think of a Sex on the Beach, or even Vodka Blue. 

He is definitely a whiskey on the rocks guy though, Zayn concludes, before dragging a hand down his face to rid his thoughts of Liam in clothes from his time. Tight shirts, man tanks, a Raiders snapback hiding his blond red curls,  _ a crop top and tight joggers _ . 

“And you, laddie? Where did ye grow up?” Niall asks. His face is still bright but there is a sudden change in his expression. 

For a moment, he had forgotten how much the Clan didn’t trust him. It wasn’t a smart thing to forget. “All around,” Zayn says. He presses his thigh into Liam’s, savoring the comforting warmth radiating off of him. “After my parents died, me sisters and I moved from home to home.”

A chubby woman approaches with their drinks. She says something in Gaelic that makes the men laugh as she plops the tray on the table, but he feels Liam tense beside him. He reaches downward to cup his knees, but one of his hand grabs onto Zayn’s instead. He rips it away and grabs his mug with it.

Zayn feels just as startled, and he hopes his need to keep his eyes away from Liam isn’t obvious to Niall and Harry. 

“And your sisters?” Niall says, with hints of laughter still in his voice as the woman walks away, “Where are they now, then?”

“I don’t know,” Zayn responds quietly. He takes a sip of port as to have a reason not to answer. Waliyha is in university, and Safaa with their Aunty. They had found her only a few years ago - or she found them, as she had been the one searching for them. Zayn was an adult when she did, struggling to fight for custody of his sisters, and she took all three of them in so he didn’t have to.

It was the reason he set out in search of their family. He didn’t know there were any more than the three of them until his father’s sister arrived at their doorstep. It made him curious to find any siblings of his mother’s. 

“We will help ye find them, lad,” Niall says. It would feel genuine, Zayn thinks, if it didn’t sound distracted. He watches as Niall’s eyes move over Liam, his lips forming a shit eating grin.

Liam’s elbow pushes into Zayn’s side, making Zayn finally look at him after the knee grab incident. His nose nearly buries into a bush of sweet smelling, curly blond hair, belonging to some girl he doesn’t recognize. Zayn scoots down the bench, something foul filling his belly as he eyes the expanse of Liam’s hand on her small back.

They speak Gaelic, and quietly, but Zayn doesn’t need to understand the language to know what the delicate finger sliding over the sharp line of Liam’s jaw means.

He wishes it were as easy for him, to just place his bottom on Liam’s thighs and finally touch his beard. He gulps at his drink, cursing at himself. He doesn’t care who Liam sleeps with, he reminds himself. He has other concerns. 

Zayn watches Liam’s hand slide over her lower back. It turns something in his stomach and sends a shiver down his spine. He shoves away from the table, the cursing in his head growing louder to drown out the thoughts of Liam’s strong hands on him like that. 

He remembers seeing a horror movie in theatres when he was younger. He had wanted to bury himself into the plush seats, terribly embarrassed by how affected he had been by one of the characters wearing a small crop top and tight joggers. He feels like that now, like puberty making him have a too-eager prick, and he can’t quite blame it on the alcohol since he always feels like that around Liam.

“Where ye goin’ Brannan?”

“Need the bathroom,” Zayn responds, turning as a hand grips his shoulder. Harry’s happy face gleams down at him. 

“Behind the horse stables if ye want a wee bit of privacy. If ye not scairt of the dark.”

Zayn laughs at Harry’s grin. He wonders if dimples are a Scot thing as Harry’s deepen with his smile. 

Zayn slips his half full glass of port at an occupied table before stepping outside. The air is even cooler than when they had first came here, and it feels good against his hot skin.

He didn’t have an urge to go to the bathroom, but he does so for the privacy. It is the first time he has been alone for more than a few moments, but that joy dies when he notices one of his shadows, Rupert, has indeed followed him out.

“Horan still has you watching me, yeah?”

Rupert shrugs, leaning against one of the wooden posts of the stable. “He has made you the lad’s responsibility, but you’ve gone and snuck out on him. He isna one to forget about his duties, ye distractin’ him with port and women isna going to last long.”

Zayn crosses his arms over his chest. The lad? He assumes Rupert meants Liam, but Liam hasn’t mentioned anything to him about taking over Rupert and Ned’s duties. “I didn’t sneak out. I had to piss. Not my fault Liam is too preoccupied with a woman to do his job properly.”

Rupert laughs, a sound coming from deep in his belly. It is strange to see, since Rupert normally is silent in his presence. “Liam is too preoccupied trying to get that woman’s hands off o’ him, ye mean,” he goes on, “But if ye would like some company too -”

Zayn freezes, but his heart picks up the pace, bumping roughly against his chest as Rupert approaches him. His face is a big sluggish with wine, but his eyes focus on Zayn as he steps in front of him.

“Ye have a pretty face, lad,” Rupert whispers, sliding his thick finger over Zayn’s cheek. Zayn flinches back. Rupert is quite larger than him. He is too quiet to know how he would react if Zayn rejected his offer, or fled, or kicked him in the balls. He could be the silent and deadly type, and Zayn has never been a good fighter.

“Lips too,” Rupert says, his voice dropping to a whisper as his nail edges over the shape of Zayn’s bottom lip.

Zayn parts his lips to say something though his mind runs blank. These are different times than his own, more dangerous, barbaric. Liam had assured him that Niall had ordered that no one hurt him, but he doesn’t know if that applies outside of Castle Leoch’s walls, not since Liam and Niall’s conversation earlier. 

Before Zayn can decide what to do, Rupert is being pulled away from him so roughly his feet stumble over the hay covered ground.

There is a twisted grin on Liam’s lips as he curls an arm around Rupert’s shoulders and pats him a little too roughly on the chest, but his eyes are narrowed and there is something in them that spikes fear inside of Zayn. 

“Horan’s lookin’ for you,” Liam grunts, patting Rupert hard on the chest again. He leans his head forward, whispering something into the man’s ear.

Rupert shoves Liam away, sending a glare at Zayn, before he stalks back towards the tavern with his shoulders hunched.

“Come on,” Liam says, without looking at him. The anger is no longer on his face, but there is still an expression there that looks out of place. He turns around before Zayn can say anything and he doesn’t wait for Zayn to catch up with him. 

Liam disappears through the crowd, but Zayn finds him walking up the steps to the rooms. His heart jumps in his chest as he follows after him. He has heard an equal amount of stories about Liam’s kindness as he has heard about his intimidating power, but Zayn has never witnessed the latter.

Except for him with Rupert just now, but that pales in comparison to the things Zayn has heard about why none of the Horan clansmen while challenge him. 

“Don’t ye worry,” Liam says as he climbs up the second set of steps. The noise of the rowdy men below is still loud, but Zayn knows he will be able to sleep through it if he tries. 

If he can rid his mind of Rupert’s face and his foul smelling breath. 

Liam leads Zayn down a hallway, the noise now more distant and faded. He stops at a door before opening it, and gesturing for Zayn to step inside. He had expected Liam to look at him the same way he had at Rupert, but there is that warm glow that always takes over Liam’s eyes instead.

“Don’t ye worry,” Liam says again. Zayn has to squeeze past his front to get into the room since Liam doesn’t move any to let him by. He doesn’t mind, he likes the feeling of Liam’s hard chest against his own, but he smells of the woman’s perfume and strong whiskey. “No one will bother ye tonight.”

“I don’t understand your meaning, Liam.” 

Liam curls his fingers around Zayn’s wrist, lifting their hands between them. He traces the life line on his palm with a gentle touch. “I will make sure none of the men will bother ye. Unless ye were enjoyin’ Rupert’s company, then I -”

“No,” Zayn blurts loudly. He lifts his fingers upwards until they brush against the tips of Liam’s. He drags them down slowly over the rough bumps and lines of Liam’s fingers. He shivers at the ticklish feeling that coats every inch of his skin. “I didn’t. Harry said earlier he thought one of the men would try.”

Liam drops Zayn’s hand, his brows furrowing at the confusion and the way Zayn struggles to find the words. 

“Ye have a pretty face, Sassenach,” Liam whispers. His finger slides under Zayn’s chin, tilting his head some so his eyes can search over Zayn’s face. “I will be out here if ye need me.”

It is the same thing Rupert had said, but it doesn’t make his body feel as if he should retreat. Rather, he moves closer, until he is pressing Liam into the frame of the doorway. Maybe he only found Rupert to be creepy because he doesn’t like the man. 

“You can sleep in here if ye want,” Zayn blurts, before he can stop himself. “I mean, you can’t just sleep in the hallway.”

Liam’s eyes widen in offense, or maybe fear, Zayn can’t really tell. “I canna sleep with ye, Zayn. It will spoil your reputation.”

“My reputation?” He blurts out a laugh so loud that it rocks through him and relieves all of the negative emotions that had been curling inside of him. “I’m already looked at with disgust and suspicion. I’m not gonna take your innocence Liam.”

Liam’s face crumples together. It is a bit adorable how childlike his confusion looks. “Tis not my innocence I am worried about, Sassenach.”

“You’re worried you’d take  _ mine _ ?” Zayn asks. Maybe he has had too much to drink. He feels it suddenly, the wave of heaviness in his head brought on by the laughter. He plants his palms to Liam’s lower belly, watching as Liam looks down between them to see the touch. 

“I wouldna,” Liam says, his voice thick. Zayn watches as his fingers curl into fists by his side and he removes his touch as his heart sinks into his stomach. “No matter how much I think about it.”

Zayn whips his head up to look at Liam. There is a soft grin on his lips, a flame flickering in his eyes. He wants to ask Liam why, but being this close to Liam is already messing with his head. 

“At least take a blanket then, Mister Gibbons,” Zayn says, leaning back into the other side of the door frame to put some space between Liam and him.

Liam nods, his face closing into something impassive, but not as blank as Zayn has seen on some of the other men. Zayn doesn’t think Liam could ever truly get rid of the warmth in his eyes. “Aye, thank ye Sassenach.”

Zayn pulls away, feeling suddenly cold as he tugs a blanket off of the bed and hands it to Liam. He doesn’t want Liam to sleep on the cold floor, but Liam is stubborn. He could try sleeping next to him as not to leave him alone, but he thinks he wouldn’t sleep much.

“What did you mean earlier?” Zayn says before Liam can go, wanting more time alone with Liam before he leaves. “About the men being Niall’s. Are they not yours as well?”

Liam makes a humph noise before he reaches into a small bag hanging from his belt. It makes his front press up against Zayn’s suddenly, eliciting a soft gasp of surprise from Zayn.

He flushes hotly but Liam either ignores it or doesn’t notice as he pulls out a small, silver brooch from the bag. There seems to be a stag of sorts in the middle, and in the low light, Zayn can just make out the  _ Je Suis Prest _ engraved at the top. 

“I am ready,” Zayn translates, reaching up to touch the silver brooch. The tips of his fingers slide over Liam’s once more. 

“Aye. I dinna ken ye could speak French, Sassenach,” Liam responds.

“You never asked,” Zayn says. He looks up at Liam to apologize for his tone, but he presses his lips closed when he Liam’s crumpled face looking back at him. “I only speak a little. I lived there once. I also know some Spanish, some Urdu.”

“No much Gaelic,” Liam adds.

Zayn snorts. He slips his fingers over the back of Liam’s hand, tracing over the knuckles and soft veins he can feel there. Liam doesn’t pull away and suddenly Zayn is aware of how close they are. He can feel Liam’s breath against his face. Just a tilt of the head and a press up on his toes and Zayn could touch their lips together.

He avoids Liam’s eyes though, not wanting to scare him away. “What does this mean?”

“Family crest,” Liam explains, his thumb rubbing over the words. “The Horan clansmen are not my men, and I have made no vow to Gregory other than the one that I would abide by his orders while on his land out of respect for our kinmanship.”

“Did he order you to be my new shadow?” Zayn breathes, finally looking up at the other man.

Liam grins softly. He shoves the brooch back into his pocket. He closes in, his hand reaching out to take Zayn’s jaw into his palm. “No, Sassenach.”

“Will you teach me Gaelic?” Zayn asks, though his mind is chanting  _ will you kiss me _ instead. Liam’s lips are right there, plump and inviting. 

Liam’s eyes search over Zayn’s face. He blocks out the candlelight, making it difficult to see his expression. Zayn nudges his face into his touch as Liam’s other hand slides against the other side of his face, his fingers brushing over the hair behind his ear.

“ _ Mo duinne _ ,” Liam murmurs quietly.

“What does it mean?” Zayn breathes, tilting his head back so his lips are aligned with Liam’s. He can practically taste the whiskey on Liam’s breath but the few centimeters between them feel like miles. He has never been this nervous to kiss anyone before. 

A crash from the end of the hallway, followed by Niall’s full belly laugh pulls Liam’s attention away from him for a moment. He doesn’t move immediately away, his fingers still lingering against Zayn’s skin for a few seconds. 

“Goodnight,” Liam whispers with a nod. Zayn stands staring at the door for a few moments, touching his face where the burn of Liam’s fingertips still lingers.

*

Liam is good at making it seem like there is no reason for him to linger around Zayn, but after a few days, it becomes obvious that Liam has taken over Rupert and Ned’s job as his shadow. Zayn can’t decide if it is better or not, since he can always feel Liam’s eyes on him. They burn hotter than anyone else’s had, and he feels as if even his thoughts aren’t safe from being discovered.

They travel from town to town, stopping to collect rent and sleeping at taverns, with Liam always outside his door or around a campfire. Zayn doesn’t mind sleeping on the ground, but Liam always sleeps too close and rolls around in his sleep. There have been more than a few times he has woken to Liam’s face only a few inches from his own.

They move closer to Craigh na Dun, and it takes everything inside of Zayn to not run away in the middle of the night as the men sleep. He doesn’t trust that they won’t wake until he is far enough. 

And he has also grown fond of Harry, despite how often he tells himself not to get close to anyone. He is failing more and more, day by day. His thoughts of Liam are growing harder to push away, and at night he stares up at the stars, feeling regret when he realizes he goes hours without thinking of his sisters and home.

“We have been together for three years,” Harry tells him one day. He sits on the edge of the wagon beside Zayn as they watch each tenant walk up to the table Ned and Niall have set up to collect rent. “Gregory wilna allow us to marry.”

“Why not?” Zayn asks. The wagon smells from the animals that had been on top of it. Niall had made it clear no livestock as payment, but in nearly every town they have stopped in, they have left with at least four more pigs or baby cows. 

“I have nothin’ to offer,” Harry explains, his eyes down in his lap where he plays with his bony fingers. “Tis rare to find anyone marrying for love. Gregory married his wife because she came wi’ land and more tenants. He wants Niall to marry someone who can offer him something to contribute to the Clan. I canna even offer him an heir. It would be a shame to the Horan name if the Laird’s brother married a baker’s son.”

Zayn wrinkles his nose at this. He isn’t really an expert in the love department, and he has never wanted to marry for any reason, but he hates the sadness that crosses Harry’s face. He knows heirs are important to lords and the like, but Niall isn’t up for the throne if Gregory passes. The only case would be if Gregory’s son hadn’t turned eighteen yet, and even that would be temporary . 

“Well, fuck that, mate. Can’t you just get married anyway?” 

Harry’s face crumples, his bottom lip pushing out into a thoughtful pout. “Aye. Liam’s mother did that, refused to marry every possible suitor her brother had her meet. Ran off and married Geoffrey. Robert was furious, searched high and low until he found her. Couldna anul the marriage as she was pregnant and had a little bairn clinging to her leg.”

“Liam has a sibling?” Zayn says suddenly. He grimaces at Harry apologetically. It wasn’t the point of Harry’s story.

“Aye. Older brother; passed when he was young, but he has a sister back home.” Harry stills, mouth parted open as his eyes fill with worry. “I shouldna be tellin’ ye so much. Not my place.”

“I know,” Zayn says after a moment, realizing why panic suddenly crossed his friend’s face, “about the price on his head. I vow secrecy.”

Harry only relaxes some but anxiety lingers along the edges of his expression. “Best not talk about it more,” Harry says. He turns to face the men, and Zayn doesn’t have to see where he looks to know he is looking at Niall.

Zayn takes the chance to watch Liam. He is friendly with everyone who approaches, standing to Niall’s left, but plenty of times he falls to a squat to entertain one of the children that has accompanied their parent.

It tugs at Zayn’s heart, making him want to kick Liam somewhere. Anywhere, just to relieve the frustration he has in his chest every time he looks at the man. 

Liam approaches a man at the end of the line, looking worn and gray. A little boy just as dirty clings to his legs and the man holds nothing more than a small bag. He can’t hear Liam, but he watches as Liam claps the man on the shoulder and moves his other hand as he speaks, gesturing between the bag and the child.

The man’s head hangs for a moment before he shakes Liam’s hand. Zayn watches as the man leaves with the bag and his son, and Liam returns to Niall’s side with Niall glaring at him. 

“How far are we from Craigh na Dun?” Zayn asks suddenly, turning to Harry. “I had a small bag with a carved dog my sister made for me inside. I think I dropped it there.”

Harry’s face goes from apprehensive to soft. Waliyha had given him a dog statute last Christmas, but she had bought it, not carved it herself, and he had not brought it with him. The only thing he had lost since he came here was a ruby earring he wore in his left ear. “About a day’s trip.”

“Do you think Liam would escort me? It is the only thing I have of my sister.”

The grimace on Harry’s face is a clear answer, and Zayn feels his shoulders drop in despair. “Ye ken too much about us for Niall to be willin’ to let you stray too far out of his eyesight.”

“He trusts Liam to keep an eye on me,” Zayn reminds Harry.

“He trusts Liam not to harm ye,” Harry explains regretfully, “and if ye canna leave, Liam will stay.”

“Why does that matter?”

Harry only shrugs, but the tight way he presses his lips together tells Zayn he knows the answer.

As they sit there, Zayn decides he is going to leave during the night with or without a guide. They are close enough that he may be able to make it before the men wake, if he can get Liam drunk enough to sleep so hard through the night that Zayn moving beside him won’t stir him. If Liam is only with Clan Horan because of him, maybe he too will be free to go once Zayn is gone.

They always go to a pub after collecting rent. Niall speaks to the tenants whilst getting them drunk usually, and though Zayn doesn’t know what they are speaking about, there is always a lot of cheers and chanting. Liam doesn’t always drink, at least not more than one or two mugs, but Zayn will assure his mug never goes empty tonight.

Tonight there are no cheers, however, only looks of shocked horror and a rumble of whispers. Zayn watches in interest as Niall speaks to the tenants passionately, anger in his voice. The only word he understands is  _ Sassenach _ and  _ Scotland _ . Rupert walks around the tenants, a small bag in hand that they drop small coins into.

“Liam, come here!”

Liam’s hand reaches under the table to squeeze Zayn’s knee before he empties his mug and leaves him sitting there. 

“No,” he hears Harry breathe, so quietly that Zayn almost mistakes it for the wind blowing against the walls of the pub.

Horror twists in his stomach as he watches Niall grab Liam’s shoulder, turning him roughly so his back faces the crowd. Liam’s jaw tenses so hard it looks as if it could break as he follows suit. The ripping sound makes Zayn flinch, and he finds himself staring at the back of his eyelids instead of the marred skin of Liam’s bare back.

An echo of horror surrounds him under Niall’s shouting. Liam shoves away from Niall, grabbing the shreds of ripped shirt from him. Niall doesn’t react, doesn’t seem to care about the rage on Liam’s face, but continues to speak to the tenants surrounding him.

“Liam and him will fight soon,” Ned sighs from beside Zayn. “Whenever they fight it is a good battle, but vicious. As much as they love each other, they fight like they were born and bred to kill the other.”

Zayn doesn’t ever want to see Liam battle anyone. He had hated being in the war, watching the men talk and brag about those they had maimed and killed. Zayn wasn’t sure if they were even harming the enemy anymore, as he cared for children that the men of his own army thought to be the enemy so often that the word  _ enemy _ started losing meaning to Zayn. 

He had hated the look on Liam’s face when he had pulled Rupert off of him. It hadn’t looked right on him. And he hates the look on Liam’s face now, because he finally understands why the others say he is so intimidating. 

Liam slips away undetected into the crowd and Zayn shoves from his seat, following after him. He follows him down a corridor that he knows leads out to the stables. Intimidating or not, Liam has never touched him with anything but gentle hands. 

Liam whirls on him, a dirk in hand until he sees Zayn and relaxes. He shoves the dirk into his belt. “I am sorry Sassenach, I dinna know it was you. I should have, ye dunna sneak verra weel.”

“Don’t worry,” Zayn promises, ignoring Liam’s last comment. He reaches out, taking Liam’s hands where he holds the ripped shirt, “Why did he do that to you?”

“Aye it is no worry,” Liam says softly. There is a smile on his face, but Zayn doesn’t believe it to be genuine. “I canna assume to know what goes through Niall’s head.”

“But you know what he was saying,” Zayn says. He lets his fingers slip up Liam’s forearms, and Liam remains still, allowing him to touch. He knows he shouldn’t, but as he is leaving in only a few hours, never to see Liam again, something inside of him just wants to let go and finally touch Liam like he has craved to. More than simple touches, but ones that make him feel as if he is burning from the inside out.

“I sent away a man willing to pay us the last of his food for rent instead of feeding his children tonight,” Liam says quietly. 

“So this is punishment?”

“No. It is more than that. There is another reason Sassenach, one that I canna explain to ye.”

He can feel the gooseflesh under the thin hair coating Liam’s arms. His skin is rough like he had expected, and hot - always hot. There is only one candle in this corridor, but from this close, Zayn can still make out the expanse of his strong chest and the hardness of his nipples. His stomach, rippled with muscle and scars that Zayn wants to hear the story behind but at the same time he doesn’t ever want to hear about how Liam got them.

He doesn’t want to think of the pain Liam has endured over his life. What he does know is horrific enough. 

Zayn wants to think about whether or not Liam would lay still beneath him and allow him to explore as much of him as Zayn wanted to instead. Or if he is an eager lover, whose touches feel more like a match striking against his skin than the flame slowly building over it. He wants to know if Liam whimpers or moans, if his chest gets just as red as his face does when he exerts himself.

Liam swallows so harshly that his Adam’s Apple bobs violently. “I must sew my shirt before it gets too cold. I canna afford to be sick, ya ken. Even traveling with a doctor like you.”

“I think port could warm you,” Zayn suggests with a laugh as he slides his palms over the crook of Liam’s elbow. He is afraid of scaring Liam away, but the other man moves a bit closer into Zayn’s touch. He could warm Liam too, but it is an offer he is too afraid to say out loud.

They haven’t been this close since their first night of travel, and Zayn finds himself wondering too often if Liam would have kissed him if Niall hadn’t accidentally interrupted. 

“Tryna get me drunk, Sassenach?” Liam says, his voice falling deep and hoarse. It sends a spark of arousal down Zayn’s spine. “It takes a lot, I am afraid.”

“Wouldn’t you want to? After that,” Zayn says with genuine concern. He wants to push Liam to explain Niall’s reasonings but he won’t after Liam told him he couldn’t. “You don’t deserve to be punished for kindness. Or for this to happen to you for any reason. Those scars are yours and only you should decide who sees them.”

“Aye,” Liam breathes as Zayn lets the tip of his fingers glide down the sides of Liam’s torso. He can feel the shiver in Liam’s skin, one that matches his own. “I was right to show ye,  _ mo duinne _ .”

Liam’s eyes are on his face, but it is too dark to see the look in them. Liam inches closer, until his balled up shirt is pressing against Zayn’s chest. Zayn tickles over the brim of Liam’s kilt until his fingers curl into the fabric.  He tugs the material gently, wanting to press their hips together to see if Liam wants him as much as he wants Liam.

Something crosses over Liam’s face as his strong hand suddenly cups Zayn’s jaw. His fingers press down hard, but it is not an angry touch. His thumb glides over the coarse hairs of his chin, nail nipping at the skin below his bottom lip. 

“Go back inside, Sassenach. Get me a glass of port for when I return, will ye?” 

Disappointment washes through him, drowning him as Liam steps back from his touch. Liam’s eyes rake over him, and from the distance he can’t see the expression on his face, only shadows, before the Highlander man turns and walks towards the stables.

Zayn rests against the hard stone wall, hoping the chill can seep through his body and put out the fire ripping through him, before he returns to the group of men.

*

Zayn listens for the litany of snores echoing through the building before he gets up from his bed. He had left the door open, but Liam had never come to sleep outside of his room. He doesn’t trust that Liam drank enough to stay asleep, and he doesn’t know where the man is to make sure he isn’t awake.

Nerves wrack through him as he pulls the bag he had made earlier from behind the mattress. The want for a comfortable mattress, that isn’t bug ridden, is just another reason for Zayn to get the hell out of this time.

The hallway is empty as he tiptoes down it. The dying candles are still bright enough that he can see some of the men slumped over the tables or sitting asleep with the weapons in their hands. The guards, he presumes. For only a moment does he wish he could be there when to see Niall finding out his guards fell asleep whilst on duty. 

There is some stirring as Zayn moves through the tables, some huffed out snores, but no one wakes. He follows the corridor he had touched Liam in, trying not to think of how close he had been to having Liam pressed up against him. He wishes he could have said goodbye, but he wouldn’t have made it very far if Liam had any suspicious that he was going to leave. 

As if his thoughts had produced him, Zayn nearly trips over Liam’s legs as he makes his way out of the corridor. They stick out from under the fence of the stable, where he can make out Liam’s sleeping face on a bundle of hay.

He smiles in his sleep. Zayn had noticed this before, had stored the information away in his list of things he likes and dislikes about Liam. He watches Liam for a moment, before finally ripping himself away with his goodbye whispered into the air.

He runs, too afraid of waking Liam by attempting to get a horse to ride. He doesn’t want to be alone with one of those things anyway. If he falls, he is screwed. 

Every crunch of leaves or sticks under his feet builds his fear of being caught. He pauses here and there to listen, but he can barely hear anything over the pounding of his heart against his eardrums. 

He recognizes enough of the woods from before to help him find his way back to the stones. He had traveled through them at times with one of the other tenants of the hotel he had been staying at, listening to them search for flowers native to Scotland. 

When the first glow of dawn breaks across the sky, a overpowering sense of hope and relief floods Zayn. He has yet to be captured again, but he tells himself not to be excited. He is still hours away from his destination and the men could be waking at any moment now.

Exhaustion makes his feet feel heavy. He isn’t used to this much exercise, but luckily most of the terrain is flat so he doesn’t have to exert too much of his strength too soon. His clothes are hot and sticking to his skin. It is sometime in September, maybe October by now. He has lost track of time while on the road, but the air isn’t as cold as October air can get. 

Around midday is when he first hears voices. Distant sounding, but he stills. They aren’t Scottish, but British. He must be close to the stones then.

He glues himself to a thick tree, unsure of the direction the voices are coming from. His time with the Scots had made him fearful of being caught by the British, but they shouldn’t find him to be suspicious. A British man, lost in the Highlands.

Bad idea, Zayn thinks. He could say he escaped being captured, but that could bring trouble to Niall and Liam. He could run for it, but as the voices near, he realizes they are coming from the direction he needs to go. 

Zayn steps from the tree. Maybe they are far enough for him to divert them whilst still going in the same direction.

Zayn turns, then freezes. His whole body goes still but he manages to raise his hands in the air as he faces three men on horses, each with a rifle pointed at him. It feels too much like his first moment in this time, his gut feeling just as bad as it had been then.

He stares at the man in the lead, at the dark eyelashes surrounding his dark eyes. His thick hair, falling past his ears. It is a face so familiar that, for a moment, Zayn wonders if his father had came through the stones and not actually died all those years ago.

However, there are enough differences between his father and this man that Zayn realizes he is mistaken. The eyes are wrong, as is the strong build. And when he speaks, it is a British accent that comes out of his mouth.

“State your name and where you are from.” 

“Zayn Brannan of Bradford, England,” Zayn announces, with his hands still in the air. 

Captain Father Look-A-Like lowers his rifle slightly, peering over it curiously. “What are you doing in the Highlands, Zayn Brannan of Bradford, England?” 

“I was looking for my mother’s family. I am afraid I’ve gotten myself lost.”

“You are not a Scot.”

Zayn wants to roll his eyes. It is becoming clearer to him who this man is, and a protective anger boils inside of him.  _ Seemed to enjoy it, he did. Though unhappy with my unwillingness to scream. “ _ My mother is.”

“And not your father?”

“No,” Zayn snaps. The longer they stay here laying out his family tree, the longer it will take him to get to Craigh na Dun. “A printer from Bradford.”

Close to the truth. His father had worked for the local press as a side job before he had died. There are article clippings of his stored away in his home. He used to keep them tucked between the few books he brought with him from foster home to foster home.

“A British man with a Scottish wench?” The Captain spits with disgust. “I have never heard of such a thing.”

Irritation bites into Zayn and he forces himself not to react. “Stranger things have happened, sir.” Like the truth of why he is here, for instance. 

The man narrows his eyes further at Zayn. “Come with us until we can figure out if you are who you say you are.”

Zayn wants to protest, but his decision to stay silent is made for him as one of the soldiers jumps from his horse and grabs Zayn roughly by the arms to lead him back to his horse. The rope around his wrists itches, but it doesn’t feel half as bad as the body of the strange soldier pressing against his back. 

They ride in silence.With fear, Zayn watches the ground pass below as he tries to convince himself to roll off the horse, down the hill and somehow not be caught again on his way back to Craigh na Dun. But the ropes around his wrists give him little hope that he will make it too far. 

He distracts himself with thoughts of Liam, of how he might have reacted when he woke and searched through the tavern to find Zayn gone. He thinks about it until there is an ache in his chest that he can’t rid, no matter what else he tries to think about. 

The soldiers bring him to a house, a large red one that seems just as big as Castle Leoch. They still don’t say a word to Zayn, but lead him into the finely furnished home. It clearly belongs to someone of importance. There are portraits of an ugly man with a massive white powdered wig in nearly every room Zayn walks through. 

The two soldiers leave Zayn with the Captain, who sits on the edge of a desk with curious eyes on him. The similarities of his face to his father’s are disturbing to look at. He never remembers his father looking anything but happy, unlike this man who wears an expression that could scare even Gregory. 

“What are you doing in Scotland unaccompanied? Are you a soldier?”

Zayn shakes his head as he rubs his sweaty palms down his pants. “I am looking for my mother’s family. I was taking residence at Castle Leoch while I searched for her.”

The Captain’s nose wrinkles further. “Gregory Horan helping a British man? I find that doubtful.”

“Stranger things have happened, sir.”

The man in front of him glares at him so dangerously that Zayn takes a step back. He wonders if the man notices any resemblance between the two of them. He has always thought he looked more like his father, but with his mother’s eyes and and mouth.

“Do you know who I am?” 

Zayn considers shaking his head, but with the air of importance this man has he wonders if he should know his name. “Captain Malik, sir.”

The man doesn’t look surprised, but pleased at this response. “That is correct,” he starts, moving away from the table to step closer to Zayn. “And do you know I don’t like being lied to?”

The man reaches out, gripping Zayn’s chin hard so he has to look him in the eye. It takes everything in Zayn not to rip himself away. 

“No one likes being lied to,” Zayn says, before quickly adding, “but I am not lying, Captain. I am who I say I am.”

The Captain makes a low noise of disapproval. “See, I do not believe you. I have been to Bradford and I would remember a face like yours.”

_ Just like yours _ , Zayn thinks, but he bites his tongue. “Surely you haven’t seen every person that lives in Bradford, sir.”

“No, you are correct,” Captain Malik says. His grip hardens before he lets Zayn go suddenly. “But I do know the Maliks and you clearly have the face of one.”

The door flies open then, revealing one of the soldiers from earlier with a petrified look on his face. Niall stands behind him, his own face rigid with anger.

“Excuse me Captain,” Niall says, his tone icy as he steps inside. He glances at Zayn once before standing in front of him, blocking his body from Captain Malik’s, “I was wondering why you took a guest of Clan Horan’s as prisoner?” 

“As prisoner?” Captain laughs. “Have I harmed you, Zayn  _ Brannan _ of Bradford?”

“My hands were tied, Captain.”

The man’s eyes narrow and Zayn swears they turn black. As much as he wanted to flee from the Scots, he finds an overpowering sense of relief that Niall is here and willing to take him away from this man that looks too much like his father.

His father, who had been sweet and soft spoken. His Aunty had told him he rarely cursed, and he was so gentle it seemed as if he could break at any moment, even though he was big and strong looking. He prays the Captain doesn’t mention the fact that he thinks Zayn is a Malik, because that would be really bad for his ‘not a spy’ case. 

“We will not allow a British man of nobility to stay in the hands of the Scots for long. Mister Brannan, you may leave on your own accord, but as a British man you fall under our rule and not Horan’s.”

Zayn’s heart flies in his chest. He has no idea what any of that means. Nobility? He thinks the man just has an inflated ego. He has no knowledge of the Malik family in the eighteenth century but clearly there is some connection. 

“I am a welcomed guest at Castle Leoch,” Zayn assures the man. “They have treated me quite fairly.”

Niall grips Zayn’s wrist roughly, contradicting Zayn’s words. “Protected by Laird Gregory Horan now, sworn to one of the men,” Niall says, making the Captain’s head whip from glaring at Zayn to Niall. Zayn tries not to stare at Niall in confusion. He is speaking English but Zayn still doesn’t understand what he is saying. “So if there is no other business to be had, Captain, we will be on our way.”

“I want the papers,” the Captain demands, his eyes angry, but his grin mischievous. “And tell that cousin of yours I said hello if you see him, would you? I do hope to run into him again. We have unfinished business.”

Niall doesn’t say anything out loud, but he grumbles what Zayn thinks is curse words in Gaelic under his breath until they make it outside. A spark of rage fills his belly from the Captain’s taunting words. 

Zayn recognizes Niall’s horse and Niall shoves him towards it, finally letting him go. “What is wrong with ye? Want to tell me how ye ended up in the clutches of Captain Malik?” 

Zayn’s hands shake as he gets onto the horse with much difficulty. When he is finally on, Niall climbs behind him with ease.

It is strange being pressed up to Niall, whose chest is much smaller than Liam’s against his back. He goes on with his spiel of anger as they ride, Zayn’s own building as well.

“They have reason ta come into Castle Leoch and take ye right back if I didna lie,” Niall cusses, “Was that yer plan _ Sassenach? _ Or were ye trying to prove yerself not a spy?” 

Zayn flinches. He had grown used to the soft, pleasant way Liam said the nickname, completely forgetting its original meaning to be insulting. “No. I wanted to see Craigh na Dun.”

“Och!” Niall spits. “For what?”

“I left a token of my little sister. It is all I have left of her.”

Niall lets out a rough grunt, but he doesn’t speak for a long moment. When he finally speaks, his voice is low with only a hint of anger in it. “Do ye know what we do to men who run?”

Zayn doesn’t respond. He can only imagine. Everything in this time is barbaric, and he  _ hates _ it. Children losing hands for being hungry, men having their backs ripped apart for stealing -

Zayn realizes he doesn’t know what Liam stole. Why hadn’t he lost a hand instead? He had helped in stealing the cattle after he had been lashed. 

“We beat ‘im until they canna run away again. Or at least, until they won’t want to. Fortunately for you, we canna lose more time tryin’ to lug ye around. We lost too much time looking for ye. Ye ken, I nearly strangled Liam to shut him up about it. If ye didna know as much as ye do about the lad I wouldna searched for ye.”

Guilt pools into Zayn’s empty belly. He had only a few bites of the bread he brought early this morning. He considers Niall is more worried about Zayn squealing to the British Army about whatever he has spouted at the tenants the night before. 

“Might strangle him since he failed at keeping an eye on you.”

“No,” Zayn blurts, the force of his panic nearly making him fall from his horse. 

“Calm yerself laddie, I wouldna. I’d have to strangle the lot of them for drinkin’ so much none of them noticed ye slipping out. Ye dinna have quiet feet.”

They ride in silence after that and when they arrive to their destination, a large house on a large stretch of green surrounded by a stone and metal gate, Niall helps him down from the horse with most of his angered expression gone.

“I havena seen the wrath of my cousin in some time,” Niall whispers with a grin. “I’ll pray for ye. He might not whip ye but ye wilna want to upset him again.”

Zayn’s stomach churns at the thought. The house is mostly empty when they arrive, but he can hear the distant sound of voices some way off.

“We left most of the men behind in search for ye. Liam could only go so far once we found out ye had been taken by the reds.”

Zayn wonders if he had actually been followed this whole time since it was so easy for the Clan to find him. Embarrassment makes his face hot. Liam had been right, he is horrible at sneaking. 

He stills when Liam enters the room, his face burning with anger but the relief in his eyes is the loudest emotion on his face.

“Have ye lost yer head?” Liam asks, his Scottish accent thicker than he has ever heard it before while speaking English. Zayn flinches. Despite Niall’s words, he trusts Liam would never hurt him. It feels as true to him as his own name. “I would have taken ye to the damned stones if ye had only asked!”

He feels Niall disappear beside him but Zayn doesn’t turn to see where he has gone. The reasonable part of his brain tells him that he doesn’t know Liam well enough to have so much trust in the man, but he does.

Liam approaches him and when he reaches out, Zayn flinches. But he only curls his fingers gently around Zayn’s wrist and holds his hand against his chest.

Zayn can feel the fast pounding of Liam’s heart. They are close, almost as close as they had been the night before. 

“I couldn’t have. Would be too risky of you getting caught.”

“The hell with that,” Liam spits. His angry face doesn’t match up with the gentle way he rubs his thumbs over the veins on Zayn’s wrist. “The only reason I didna walk up to Malik myself is because Niall forbade me it.”

“I didn’t think you were one to listen to authority,” Zayn says weakly. 

A small grin breaks over Liam’s mouth. “Aye, well there was more said than just telling me not to do it, ya ken.”

“Like what?” Zayn breathes.

Liam’s thick brows lift towards his hairline as he sighs. “Well, Niall swore me I would be in charge of yer punishment and not Rupert if I sat still.”

Zayn feels like he wants to sink away and disappear into thin air. He had seen the blows Rupert had punished Liam with. There was no holding back, and they are friends. He would be even less considerate of Zayn’s well being. “Well thank you for that. Punish me if you must, Liam, but I will not be quiet if you do. I am a screamer.”

Liam huffs out a laugh. He cups Zayn’s face, circling his thumb over the corner of his mouth. “I ken how you have longed for yer sisters and home. I wilna punish you for that, Sassenach.”

Relief and annoyance fill Zayn. Annoyance, because Liam keeps giving him more things to add to his like list, and he doesn’t need any more reason to like Liam. Liam has made it difficult enough for him.

“Niall said Malik has reason to come to Castle Leoch. If he sees you there -”

Liam presses Zayn’s hand harder against his chest as if he were cradling it. “Dinna worry yer head about me, Sassenach. Or yerself. Niall and I will find a way to keep ye safe. He lied to the Captain to give us more time and I will get on my knee and swear it to ye if it takes that look off yer face.”

Warmth fills Zayn, and he suddenly feels exhausted. He feels more welcomed than he had before, even though he now knows for certain he isn’t allowed to return home unless he brought the whole clan to the stones to watch him disappear.

But Niall had mentioned Zayn proving he wasn’t a spy, and that is a relief he needed. Maybe the suspicious eyes glancing his way will stop, at least. 

“That wouldn’t be necessary.”

“Go upstairs, bathe if ye like to, and rest. We leave at nightfall.”

Liam lets go of his hand and Zayn considers asking Liam to join him. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed being away from Liam, how much the thought of never seeing him again bothered him until now.

“I won’t run,” Zayn says to the hesitancy in Liam’s eyes. 

“I hope not, Zayn. I wouldna want to see a man put their hands on ye, deserving or not. I wouldna be able to let ye go unpunished a second time. Even if it hurt me to do so.”

With that Liam nods, and Zayn trucks upstairs until a servant finds him and shoves him into a room with a basin big enough to hold half of the clan. 

Zayn doesn’t sleep, but he pretends to when Niall comes into the room to wake him. He sits on the edge of Zayn’s bed, eyes diverted as Zayn pulls on his shirt and climbs out from the blankets.

“Do ye fancy men or women?”

Zayn stills in his movements. It was not a question he ever expected to be asked, especially by the War Chief. Especially now. 

“The same as you,” Zayn answers hesitantly. “What is this about?”

Niall’s lips quirk up, a look crossing his face that Zayn has deemed ‘the Harry Look.’ He doesn’t know how he ever missed it before. “I have only ever fancied Harry. We grew up together, his father worked in the kitchens and Harry used to sneak me pastries. My heart has only ever belonged to him.”

Zayn smiles. It feels forced, as he tries not to pressure Niall into explaining his question or rushing him to get to the point. He can’t say he has understood how Harry and Niall work, but in this moment he understands a little.

The softness fades from Niall’s face after a moment, the expression he wears when he orders people around returning. He claps his hands on his thighs before standing. 

“The only way to not be an Englishman under English rule is to be a Scot. I told the Captain ye were sworn to one of my men. He wants proof of that, and I intend of givin’ it to him unless ye want to go back to him. If yer thinking about it, I would ask Liam about why ye wouldna.”

Zayn’s stomach drops as he thinks about the feel of Liam’s scars under his fingertips. “I don’t.”

Niall’s eyes search his face before he stands from the edge of the bed. “Ye will be married by nightfall tomorrow. No a moment later.”

Zayn feels as if he has fallen off a horse as his whole world tilts. He scrambles from the bed as Niall walks towards the door.

“Married? Sir, I cannot  _ marry _ \- ”

Niall turns, his arms crossed over his chest. There is no room for argument on his face but Zayn is ready to. “Are ye already married?”

“No,” Zayn fumbles out. He is struggling to even process the idea, let alone come up with a reasonable response.  _ You’re fucking joking  _ is all he can come with at the moment. 

“Well what did ye think I meant by being sworn to one of my men?” Niall asks, holding his hands out in confusion. “A simple engagement wilna do much, Brannan.”

Nothing passes Zayn’s part lips. He doesn’t know what he thought Niall meant. But his mind would never come up with something like  _ marriage _ .

“Dinna worry, it is a good man. Will take care of ye and that. Ye already look as if yer a moment away from takin’ yer cock out when yer around him.”

Zayn imagines his eyes bulging from his head the way he has seen in cartoons. Niall bursts into a fit of laughter. “You can’t just make me marry someone!”

“Liam will be a fine husband to ye. The lad nearly tore down the whole tavern in search of ye this morning. I have known the lad for a long time and have never seen him interested in anyone.”

“Liam?” Zayn asks as if he doesn’t know the name.

“Aye,” Niall grunts with amusement, patting him hard on the shoulder, “Tis a good thing, lad. Ye can finally stop battlin’ with that frustration between the two of ye.”

Niall’s laughter follows him out of the room. Zayn doesn’t move as he stares at the door until he is long gone. He can’t process it, really. But the words echo over and over in his head.

_ Liam will be a fine husband to ye.  _ Liam _. _

_ * _

Liam scratches at his beard as he stares out of the window at the distant shadows of horse stables. He needs to trim it again, but he likes how it reminds him of what it feels like to touch Zayn’s jaw.

Liam sighs, staring down at his hands. He hadn’t felt a worry like that in such a long time. When Zayn returned, he wanted to crush him against his chest but Niall’s eyes lingered too much and he was worried he would hurt Zayn with all the feelings of worry, anger, and relief rushing through him.

It had been Niall’s idea that he marry Zayn. Liam would do more than that to keep him out of Malik’s hands. The thought alone of him just being near Malik opens up more anger inside of him. His skin is soft, unmarked, he knows the English Captain would find too much joy in tearing it apart.

He wants to go to Zayn, to feel the pulse of his heart under his fingertips. But he is nervous; a funny emotion he rarely feels. Niall had told him earlier of the marriage, and he had been too nervous to go to him since. They had not spoken, even as they rode beside each other to meet up with their other men. 

It is an absurd idea. He doesn’t care of the gossip, only for Zayn’s safety. And the freedom to touch Zayn without worry is in the back of his mind, but it is too selfish of a thought to bring forward.

As if Zayn can hear his thoughts, a clearing of the throat has Liam turning to find Zayn in his doorway.

Liam has blurted out that Zayn is beautiful before, to his own embarrassment, but he can’t help it. He has never met anyone as beautiful, or known a man with such softness and delicacy but such a strength mixed in.  _ Mo duinne _ , his dark haired lad. 

“I don’t know your name,” Zayn says as a greeting. He crosses his arms over his chest. There is a hesitancy in him to come forward so Liam stays where he stands as well. His hair is fluffy from laying down, stuck to his forehead. His dark eyelashes flutter over his cheekbones. They are longer and thicker than Liam has ever seen on anyone.

“Payne. Liam James Geoffrey Horan Payne.”

Zayn lets out a loud snort. “Zayn Payne. Huh, that sounds horrid.”

Some of the tension seeps away from Liam. He likes it a lot actually, more than he would ever admit. He has never thought he would be married, he has nothing to give other than himself and a home he cannot return to, but the more he sits with the idea the more he likes it.

“Zayn Gibbons isna music to the ear.”

Zayn grins. His eyes crinkle when he does. Liam likes the way his eyes squint and his nose scrunches up when he laughs. Sometimes the tip of his tongue presses into the corner of his mouth and it is distracting. Liam has never been distracted so easily in his life. “No, I suppose it isn’t.”

“Liam Brannan?” Liam suggests.

Zayn shakes his head with a serious expression. “No.” He watches Liam for a long moment before speaking again. “Did you agree to this?”

Liam hesitates. “Aye.”

It seems to be the right answer as Zayn relaxes visibly. “I was just making sure Niall wasn’t punishing you for letting me escape and then  _ not _ punishing me for it.”

Liam could laugh at that. Niall had told him to punish Zayn, ordered him to actually, even gave him the belt to do it, but he couldn’t. He would do anything if it meant having something of his older brother. 

And the idea of Zayn being harmed, in any way, makes him feel like he has poison inside of him.

“I give ye my word, Sassenach. It is not a punishment for me.”

He watches the flash of white between Zayn’s lips as he drags his teeth over his bottom lip. He had thought Zayn was going to kiss him the night before with the way he had been touching him. He had never been so affected by a simple touch like that one on his arms, even when Zayn has touched his bare skin before.

He wanted Zayn last night, badly. It was hard not to crush Zayn against the wall until he could feel just how badly he wanted him. He had to take himself into his hand before returning to the pub, and then drink whiskey until his thoughts of Zayn burned away. 

That had been his mistake, and there is a thought in the far back of his mind that that had been Zayn’s plan.

“Does it bother you I’m not a virgin?”

The question brings Liam’s attention away from the thought of Zayn the night before. “No. Does it bother you that I am one?” 

Zayn hesitates for a moment, as if he is surprised, but he responds with a shake of his head. “No.” His eyes linger on him for a moment before he turns to leave. “Goodnight, Mister Payne.”

Liam bows slightly, hand resting over his belly. “Goodnight, Sassenach.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much a thousand times over again! I hope you enjoy this chapter it was one of my favorites to write!! Love you all mwah

“Do I really have to wear a kilt?”

Harry looks up from where he kneels before Zayn, stitching a hem around the bottom of the kilt. A lot of the men are bigger than Zayn, taller and broader. He could wrap the kilt around himself twice and it would still be too big. 

“Well, I suppose ye dinna have to but Liam was verra clear about wanting a proper wedding. Ye could ask him. These are O’Braonain colors here. Ye dinna ken yer family, but I thought maybe ye would like it.”

Zayn lets out a long sigh in response. He doesn’t want to see Liam. They have barely spoken about it, but what else is there to say? “I like it a lot, Harry, thank you. Do all the men go bare underneath?”

“Oh, aye,” Harry chuckles.

Zayn feels his face grow hot. The night before his escape he had wanted to pull Liam until their hips were pressed up against each other. There would have only been the thin material of his kilt and Zayn’s thin pants between Liam’s bare skin and his body and the thought of it makes a swirl of arousal twist down his spine. 

Harry stands, holding Zayn back to admire him. “What do you wear for weddings where you are from?”

Zayn can’t really bring up tuxedos, so he doesn’t. “Not kilts. And usually under garments.”

Harry snorts loudly. “You’ll be grateful for less clothing to remove when you consummate the marriage. Uncomfortable enough as it is.”

Zayn’s face burns even hotter. He hadn’t thought of that, despite the fact that he thinks of Liam that way quite often - but he always struggles to push those thoughts away. 

He said he didn’t care that Liam hadn’t had sex before. And he doesn’t, not really. But he does worry about it being Liam’s first time. That he can make Liam comfortable enough, feel good enough, and not have it be as awkward and uncomfortable as his own first time was. 

Harry presses a cold hand to his hot cheek. “Dinna fash. Another demand from Liam is that the witnesses stay out of the room. Argued with Niall a bit about it. Niall doesna want any doubts about whether the marriage is complete or not.”

Zayn wants to be grateful because having a group of men watch him have sex with Liam sounds like the worst thing he could imagine, but his stomach rocks with a fit of nerves. Harry’s worried eyes look over him and in a moment he is shoving a bottle of port into his hands.

“Dunna get sick or topple over. Just enough to calm that look on your face. Do ye need me to tell how to make love to a man?”

Zayn complies, taking a few gulps of the strong wine before handing it back to Harry. “No, no, I know enough.”

Harry claps him on the shoulder. “Ye will have to tell me if Liam’s cock is as big as it seems. He has big fingers, ye ken.”

Zayn chokes on air, causing Harry to thump his back a few times with a face of concern. He wipes at his watery eyes, deciding not to respond to that. “Niall told me how you used to steal pastries for him.”

Harry’s face warms over as he fidgets with the button of Zayn’s shirt. “Aye, he always claimed he was still hungry after eating half of the dining hall each night. I wouldna mind if he stuffed his face, as long as Bridgette nor Niall’s mother caught us. I have been whupped a few times after Niall ate himself sick.”

Zayn grins. It is hard to imagine Niall as ‘a little boy with chubby cheeks,’ as Harry goes on to describe him. Even harder to imagine Liam, whose only softness is in his eyes and mouth. 

He inhales as much air into his lungs as possible. This is nothing. Liam will help him to the stones again like he said he would. Well, he said he would help Zayn find his family, but he doesn’t think about how he is going to tell Liam the truth about where they are.

And then he will return to his own time, where he is not married to an attractive man who touches Zayn like he is fragile and causes a wildfire inside of him.

“I am ready,” Zayn says, after a long exhale. 

Harry beams, clapping both hands to Zayn’s face. 

Zayn isn’t sure as what to expect from an eighteenth-century Highlander wedding. His heart races so quickly in his chest he feels dizzy, unable to focus on anything around him. It is foggy, like the tall hills he climbed in the early mornings before returning to the inn for breakfast.

There is panic in him when he eyes Liam standing a few yards away. There might be music, but it seems so distant, as do the men and women standing to the sides of him. He can’t pick out any face other than Harry’s. 

Liam looks just as nervous as Zayn feels when they finally face each other, but he takes Zayn’s hands into his own without pause. His thumb runs over the long line on his palm, but the touch does not calm him like it usually does. 

_ Ye are Blood of my Blood, and Bone of my Bone - _

Zayn watches the plump of Liam’s lips move with words he is supposed to repeat. His own voice sounds distant, as if it is coming from his own mouth.  _ I give ye my body, that we two might be one - _

What was he thinking, believing that marriage wasn’t a big deal? In any time? He doesn’t know if he can make it through the stones and return home again at all, yet he is sealing his fate in this time by marrying a man he barely knows.  He didn’t even want to think of Liam in a romantic way before because he hasn’t wanted to get attached. So he thought  _ marriage  _ would be a way to do that?  

And what if Liam is marrying him out of obligation? And really does like women? Like Sophia. The poor girl was clearly a bit gone for him. Why would he agree to this?  _ Mo duinne _ probably means I fucking hate you or something, but Liam says it nicely because he is too nice of a person to hurt someone’s feelings.

Did either one of them think this through? He sure as hell didn’t. His stomach twists painfully and he does everything in his power as not to vomit up the few sips of port he had had moments before.

“Do ye like it?” 

There is a hint of insecurity in Liam’s voice as he slips a silver band around the tip of Zayn’s finger.

“I didn’t get you one,” Zayn blurts. Liam laughs, the sound ringing in Zayn’s ears.

“Ye needn’t,” Liam promises as he pushes the ring down to the base of his finger. “I had one made for me, as well.”

Zayn feels cold metal pressing into his palm and he turns it over, eyeing almost the same exact ring but wider. He takes Liam’s hand into his own, his fingers brushing over the roughness of his palms as he pushes the ring down his finger.

Zayn swallows. His fingers are thick, much thicker than his own, and there are a million other things he should be thinking about but he focuses on how the finger thickens around the knuckle and how the thought makes sweat collect at his brow. 

“ _ I give ye my Spirit, ‘til our Life shall be done, _ ” Zayn says, repeating the words Liam had said to finish their vows. 

There are things said in Gaelic, a cheering from around them. Liam’s eyes stare down at him the whole time, while Zayn focuses on a brown mark he hadn’t noticed at the base of his throat. 

It takes him a moment to realize that Liam is about to kiss him as his head moves forward an inch, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip. There is a hesitancy in his eyes, a plea for Zayn to take the lead.

Zayn moves forward faster than he expects to, so fast that the first press of his lips results in their teeth knocking together harshly and Liam’s tongue brushing against his lip as it flicks out to wet his  bottom lip again.

Liam cups a hand to the side of Zayn’s head, holding him steady as their lips align smoothly on their second try. Zayn’s heart threatens to burst into his throat when Liam sucks softly on his bottom lip before moving away from him.

There is a rumble of cheer as Liam pushes those thick fingers between Zayn’s. Zayn avoids Liam’s eyes, which are diverted as well, and looks at the burning red tip of his ear instead.

“I bet he moans real pretty, Liam! If ye need help, I will be willing to assist ye!”

“Dinna be discouraged if Liam gives ye his seed before ye even touch ‘im, Sassenach!”

Zayn wants to bury his face against Liam’s chest to hide how hot his face burns as the men tease and holler while they walk by. 

“Take yer time Zayn!” Harry hoots as he holds his palms out in front of him a foot apart and facing each other, his eyebrows wiggling. 

Liam grumbles something, shielding Zayn’s back with his front as he guides Zayn back into the tavern they have been staying in. He shuts the door harshly, drowning out the improper comments being shouted at them.

“Dinna listen, Sassenach. Harrassin’ the newly married couple is tradition. They dinna mean anything by it.”

Zayn nods, focusing on the  _ newly married couple _ part. God, that is him and Liam. “I think Harry is serious, though.”

Liam snorts loudly as the red creeps higher up his neck and into his cheeks. “Tis a bit o’ an exaggeration, I think.” Liam holds his hand out apart like Harry had. “How would ye walk with a cock that long?”

A clearing of the throat has Liam’s laughter dying off and the red in his face spreading. 

Zayn eyes the woman who runs the tavern. He doesn’t like the fact that so many people know they are headed to have sex. It makes it more awkward and makes his plan to flee more likeable. When he first moved into his apartment with his sisters, he wouldn’t ever have sex in his bedroom if the girls were there,even if they were sleeping or listening to their Walkmans at a volume so high Zayn could hear it  _ from _ his bedroom.

“Prepared ye a nice room, Mister Payne and um, Mister Payne. Far corner, a bit more privacy if ye’d like.”

Liam’s hand smooths over Zayn’s lower back, his fingers pressing in the way they had to that girl when they had first started their journey. It lights that same excitement in his belly that it had then, but stronger. 

“Thank you Missus Fitz,” Liam says politely. 

The room is spacious, with a large bed set in the middle. There are tables around, covered in bottles of different alcohols and plates of food piled high. He thinks Liam wants him to take the lead as he follows behind him, and when he turns, Liam looks more uncomfortable than he feels.

“A drink?” Zayn asks, picking up a bottle of whiskey and a small glass. Liam nods, fingers stretching the collar of his off-white button up shirt. 

He watches in amusement as Liam takes the cup and drinks the contents in one gulp. He smiles as he pulls the cup away, licking the whiskey glossing over his lips. Zayn doesn’t have any himself. The turbulence in his stomach is making him feel queasy enough already.

“Does the kilt suit me?”

Liam’s expression softens. He takes both of Zayn’s hands into his own. “Aye, Sassenach. It looks quite fine on you.”

Zayn tries to smile. Suddenly he is so nervous that he isn’t sure what to do. He has slept with men he has known less than Liam before. Well, only once, but it hadn’t been this awkward.

But he also hadn’t just married the man either, and there weren’t twenty or so men outside of their room ‘witnessing’ them consummate their marriage. He is thankful that it is a tradition that doesn’t exist in his time.

“Why did you agree to marry me?” Zayn asks suddenly. Liam flips his hands over, always fascinated with the way his own fingers look on Zayn’s palm. 

“I swore to ye I would keep ye safe from Malik,” Liam says, as if Zayn should have known this. He lifts one of Zayn’s hands, pressing a soft, wet kiss to the center of his palm.

It is innocent, but heat trails down Zayn’s spine as Liam’s eyes meet with his. “And I’ve wanted ye since the moment I first laid my eyes on ye.”

Zayn struggles to exhale the breath stuck in his lungs as Liam flattens his palms against his chest. “You have?”

“Paddy says it is better if we touch a lot,” Liam whispers nervously. Zayn nods, watching his hands as he slides them to where Liam’s shirt is parted at the top, revealing pink skin with a thin layer of brown hair over it. 

“You asked for advice?”

That pink seeps up into Liam’s cheeks as Zayn slips his fingers under the collar of the shirt. He is burning hot to the touch like always. It alarms him sometimes, making him worry that Liam has caught a fever. 

“‘Course. Mostly Niall. He is the only one who has been with a man, ya ken.”

“And Harry.”

“Well,” Liam says, dragging the word out, “I preferred to talk to Niall, rather than hear about Niall’s cock.”

Zayn huffs out a laugh. He finally meets Liam’s gaze as he touches the first button, and Liam gives a nod of assurance. 

Zayn unbuttons his shirt slowly, listening to Liam explain what Niall said. It makes him fidget, his fingers fumbling with the buttons. 

“He said it can hurt if ye go too fast,” Liam says. 

Zayn tugs the shirt from where it is tucked into Liam’s kilt. He bites his bottom lip as he watches the path of his hands moving over Liam’s chest. Liam lets out a sharp breath as Zayn’s thumb moves over his hardening nipple. 

“It can,” Zayn whispers, sliding his nail over the other nipple to hear Liam make that sound again. He does, a sharp breath between his teeth. 

“I dunna want to hurt ye, Zayn.”

The suddenness of his own name and the rough way Liam says it makes him want to hurry his movements, but as he reaches for Liam’s belt, Liam starts at the buttons of his shirt and Zayn falls into the pace of his hands. It is Liam’s first time, after all, so he wants the other lad to decide how they do this.

“You won’t,” Zayn promises, “I’ll show you just -”

Liam doesn’t take his eyes away from Zayn’s face as he continues to remove his shirt. Zayn has removed his belt, but there is a sudden hesitancy in his hands to remove the kilt, knowing that it is the last of what Liam wears.

“Just what?” 

Zayn swallows thickly, shivering under Liam’s touch as his rough palm slides over his chest, mimicking the way Zayn had touched him. There is a moan bubbling in his throat as Liam rolls a thumb over his nipple, and he sighs it out as Liam touches the other one. 

“Did you really want me before?”

Liam nods. He takes Zayn’s hand into his own, eyes intent on his as he guides his hand between his legs. “And now.”

Zayn sighs softly as he feels the hard press of Liam’s cock against his palm. He curls his fingers slightly, his touch restricted from the kilt between them, to rub Liam gently through the material.

Liam’s mouth falls open a bit, his eyes fluttering shut. His hand drags roughly up Zayn’s neck, but his touch is gentle as he holds Zayn’s jaw.

“You needn’t be gentle,” Zayn whispers as he tugs on Liam’s kilt with fumbling fingers, trying to remember how to take it off. Finally he feels the bare of Liam’s skin as the kilt hits the ground. “You won’t hurt me, I give you my word.”

Liam’s mouth on his isn’t gentle but rough and eager as Zayn takes him into his hand. Liam’s moan is sweet against his tongue, and his hips instinctively roll up into his touch. 

The taste of whiskey coats his tongue as Liam’s flicks over his. He savors the way Liam trembles every time Zayn drags his thumb over the wet slit at the tip of his cock and the way his hands fumble over his belt like he too has forgotten how to remove a kilt. 

Zayn moans softly into Liam’s mouth as their bare bodies press together when he curls his arms around Liam’s neck. He pulls his fingers through Liam’s hair and feel the rough scrape of beard against his own. 

“Zayn,” Liam moans quietly, as his hands work down Zayn’s back, tickling over his bum. Zayn gasps when rough hands dig into the back of his thighs to lift him up.

An excitement floods through him at the bulging strength of Liam’s arms. He grinds his hips down, trapping Liam’s leaking cock underneath his own.

Liam’s eyes are blown out and dark as he looks up at Zayn, his already swollen lips parted. Seeing Liam like this does something to him - something he can’t name. He isn’t sure how long he is going to last in Liam’s arms if Liam keeps looking at him like that.

“Aye, you’re beautiful, Sassenach.”

Zayn tickles a gentle hand over his chin and lowers his own head to kiss him gently. His nerves seem to be long gone, washed away by his overpowering need for Liam.

“Do you want - ”

Zayn isn’t sure how to ask the question. Would Liam know what a bottom or top is? He should have asked Harry more questions like Liam had asked Niall because he suddenly doesn’t even know how to ask Liam to fuck him in eighteenth century speech.

Liam’s massive hand curves around the round of his bottom, his fingers squeezing down gently. A rumble of a moan from the pleasure rocking through Zayn fills the air as he knocks his forehead against Liam’s. 

“I’d like to be the one inside ye, Zayn.”

The mattress is softer than the ones they have slept in before, but Zayn presses back against Liam’s hard chest above him instead of resting against the soft bed. His heavy weight is a pain at first, as Liam rests his arms against him, but Zayn guides them into the mattress around him, savoring the pressure of Liam’s body. 

Liam kisses like he has spent his life doing so. He mouths over the length of Zayn’s neck, applying just the right pressure with his teeth so that  Zayn is trembling underneath him. He takes each of Zayn’s nipples into his mouth, suckling softly and moaning each time Zayn tugs at the hair threaded between his fingers. Zayn keeps his hips still against the mattress as he watches the flick of Liam’s tongue over his skin. 

The muscles in his shoulders ripple like a wave as he moves his lips down Zayn’s body, only stopping when Zayn grabs his shoulders to pull him back up.

“What is that on yer hip?” Liam asks, as he lowers himself so his face is above Zayn’s. His lips hover over Zayn’s parted mouth, their breath exchanging as he teases. 

Zayn had gotten the dove tattooed on his hip so long ago that most of the time he rarely notices it. “Um, it is ink.”

Liam’s brows knit together in confusion as he pulls back farther. “Ye inked a dove on ye? What for?”

Zayn kisses Liam slowly to distract him from his lack of response, his tongue slipping along the seam of Liam’s mouth until Liam gives in and parts his lips. It works - Liam sucks Zayn’s tongue past his teeth, his his hips rolling against Zayn’s, all thoughts of the dove gone.  

“For a virgin, you sure know how to kiss well,” Zayn says, breathlessly. 

Liam’s grin and bright eyes fill his vision. “A virgin, laddie, no an angel.”

Zayn takes Liam’s hand into his own, kissing the tips of his fingers before wrapping his lips around them. He doesn’t know what people use for lube during this time and he isn’t sure he could handle Liam’s lips between his spread legs at the moment. Just the thought of it makes his stomach tense with pleasure and his moan flutter against Liam’s fingers.

“Zayn,” Liam moans in wonder, as Zayn’s tongue flattens and Liam’s fingers curl to collect the spit lingering at the tip of his tongue. 

Liam’s lips replace his fingers as Zayn curls his legs towards himself. It is a bit difficult with Liam’s heavy weight on top of him but he is thankful for the pressure against his trembling body when Liam’s slick fingers slip between his legs. 

Liam presses a biting kiss to his jaw before he is pulling away from Zayn and allowing the cool breeze to wash over his torso. Liam kneels in front of him, his wide hands sliding over Zayn’s thighs and pulling them over his own. His eyes wander over Zayn, a hungry look in them that makes Zayn feel on fire.

“Dinna cover your face,” Liam pleads. 

Zayn hadn’t meant to, had only put his forearm over his face because he was unsure what to do with his hands - and because he felt his face grow too hot under Liam’s gaze.

Liam spits into his hand before reaching between Zayn’s legs again. He wants to cover his face once more, because Liam doesn’t look away as he rubs a slick finger over Zayn’s hole. 

Liam doesn’t pull his eyes away as he gets Zayn open, working away the embarrassment and nerves that had been tormenting Zayn. He doesn’t look away until Zayn’s back is arching, head pushing back into the pillows as Liam’s fingers curl deep inside of him, fingering over the ball of nerves that make his thighs clench tightly around Liam. 

“Sorry,” Liam says, brows knitting together in worry. His fingers start to slide away from Zayn, but Zayn tightens his hold on Liam. 

“No,” Zayn moans. He curls his fingers around his prick, thumb rolling over the precome pooled at the top. He makes sure Liam’s eyes follow the touch. He isn’t sure if the look on Liam’s face is stress or arousal. “Feels really good.”

A determined set takes over his eyebrows, and Liam’s teeth dig harshly to his bottom lip as he works his fingers again. His touch isn’t as gentle, more eager this time, but a desperation washes over Zayn that makes him not care.

He tenses in pain as Liam pushes in a third finger without finesse or warning. Liam’s eyes worry over Zayn’s face, but Zayn plays off his gasp of pain as a gasp of pleasure. Even though it is both, he is too afraid Liam is going to pull away if he thinks Zayn is even in the tiniest bit of pain.

Liam whispers something in Gaelic as Zayn clenches around his fingers. He stops touching himself, twisting his slick fingers into the sheets again in fear of coming too soon. His body feels overheated and slick with sweat.

“Ready, Liam,” Zayn says, wiggling his hips down against Liam’s fingers. “I want you.”

A nervous look crosses Liam’s face. His bottom lip is swollen and a pebble of blood blossoms when his lips part from how hard he had been biting down on it. “Me?” 

Zayn huffs out a desperate laugh, his body jittery with want. “I don’t quite fancy any of the other men downstairs, no.”

Liam doesn’t look amused, still overwhelmed. “I’d like to hear ye say it, Sassenach.”

Zayn’s teeth graze over his lips as he watches Liam, whose eyes are intent on the work of his fingers. “I want you, Liam,” Zayn says softly, admitting a truth he has not before. 

Zayn doesn’t breath in the moments between Liam sliding away his fingers and curling around his prick. Zayn’s body tenses in anticipation as he curls his legs around Liam’s waist and Liam pushes up on his knees, both of his hands gripping firmly onto Zayn’s hips. It rips a rough moan from him as Liam presses against him, the other man’s body shaking with the effort to move slowly. Zayn rolls his hips against Liam’s prick, setting the pace for him.

“Oh,” Liam gasps, eyes finding Zayn’s again as his fingers dig into Zayn’s waist where he holds him. He is beautiful too, Zayn thinks, with his fucked out expression and parted, swollen lips. The heat in his skin trails all the way down to his navel, leaving his abdomen blotchy with red patches. The muscles in his stomach pop as they tense, and he can see the veins in Liam’s forearms from the strain of trying to not grip Zayn too hard. He lets out this soft, hitched noise with every move he makes that Zayn thinks he could fall in love with.

Liam’s head tilts back as he bottoms out, exposing the length of his neck. Zayn grinds down against him, clenching around him.

“Dunna do that, Sassenach,” Liam groans in pleasure, “I already feel close to fillin’ ye.”

He is not as embarrassed with Liam’s eyes on him this time as Liam pulls his hips back and slides in, more firmly than before. There is a tinge of pain as he does, and Zayn moves his hand over his cock to mask the pinch with a rush of pleasure. He had meant it when he told Liam he didn’t need to be gentle. He wouldn’t mind it either way, but he has pictured Liam holding him down and fucking into him ruthlessly before, and it has made Zayn toss and turn in his sheets with an arousal he never wanted to admit.

He doesn’t think of the men downstairs as his moans grow with the steady smack of skin against skin. He takes pleasure in the grunts and groans Liam releases as he hunches forward, taking Zayn’s mouth again.

“Ye feel like heaven, Zayn,” Liam moans, “Do ye -”

“Yes,” Zayn interrupts with a gasp. He curls an arm around Liam’s neck, holding him close. “I need you - harder.”

Liam’s weight pushes him into the mattress as he thrusts into him quickly, the pace of his breath signaling his release. He complies, his hips smacking hard against Zayn’s bum, jolting him into the pillows. 

Zayn grips onto his back, savoring the feel of Liam against him as each thrust drags the head of his cock against Liam’s belly. He is sensitive all over, as if his nerves could burst and leave him in pieces across the sheets. 

“Oh, fuck,  _ Liam _ .”

Liam’s teeth bite hard into the curve of Zayn’s neck as his hips stutter and warmth fills Zayn. Zayn rocks down against Liam until he finds his own release, his cock pulsing streaks of come between their bellies.

Liam’s arms encase his head as their noses brush each other. Liam’s eyes are heavy with lust before they flutter shut and his tongue slips between Zayn’s lips.

Zayn kisses him deeply, his body shivering with sensitivity as he feels Liam soften inside of him. The want for Liam burns stronger than ever before. He doesn’t want him to move away, already addicted to the feel of Liam against him. 

The suddenness of Liam pulling away from him makes Zayn grab for him, assuring the other man doesn’t move far.

He doesn’t, but flops beside him so his weight is on half of Zayn’s body.

Liam’s thick finger traces over Zayn’s sweaty face. He traces a thumb over Zayn’s lip until Zayn turns and wraps his lips around it.

He feels satiated, heavy with relaxation and burning from Liam’s gaze.

“Did ye like it?” Liam whispers unsurely. “Or no much?”

“Very much,” Zayn breathes, in honesty. He is surprised there is any breath left in him at this point. Every time he looks at Liam and feels his phantom touch, he can’t seem to take in any oxygen. 

Liam still doesn’t look convinced as his eyes follow the path of the circles his finger traces over Zayn’s skin. “Ye sure? It sounded like I hurt you. Ye said ye would scream if I punished ye before, and ye were almost screaming.”

“I was not,” Zayn denies, as he lifts his hand, rubbing his thumb over Liam’s raised nipple before pinching it and causing Liam to hiss out. 

“Did that hurt?”

Liam nods, biting at his bottom lip as his eyes glaze over with arousal.

“Would you like me to do it again?”

Liam nods, finding Zayn’s lips as Zayn rubs and pinches his nipple until it swells under his touch. 

“Was it how you expected it to be?” Zayn asks against his lips. Liam’s hand wanders over him, like he doesn’t want to ever stop touching him. He slides his fingers over Zayn’s, constantly tickling over his palm. Zayn keeps his hand still. It is a simple touch but it feels just as good as having Liam inside of him.

“Aye, better.”

Liam has been one of the few things in this time, this strange world, that Zayn has taken any comfort from. At the very least, he’s a much-needed distraction from the confusion and turmoil that plagues Zayn’s mind. That comfort settles over him again now as he loses himself in the feel Liam’s touch. Gooseflesh erupts over his skin, his nerves jittery with every graze of Liam’s nails against him.

“What does ‘ _ fuck _ ’ mean, Sassenach?”

Zayn stares up at Liam in confusion. Has he said that? Probably. “Um, what we just did.”

Liam grins, “‘Tis a strange word.”

Liam pads away after awhile, revealing the scarred skin of his back and the indent of muscles in his bum. He pours two glasses of whiskey, and brings them over with a small plate of food. 

Zayn sits, legs tangled in the sheets. The burn of whiskey down his throat reminds him of the heat he had felt while tangled with Liam, and he flushes at the arousal that courses through him as he remembers the feel of Liam pulsing inside of him. 

“What?” Liam asks as he nibbles on a piece of bread. The metal ring around his finger catches the flicker of candlelight and captures Zayn’s attention.

Zayn reaches out, taking Liam’s hand into his own. He rubs a thumb over the metal and then Liam’s thick knuckle. “When did you have these made?”

Liam raises his hand, his fingertips lining with Zayn’s before he curls his fingers between the spaces of Zayn’s. “In the morning. I told Niall I wouldna marry you without a proper wedding or a proper ring.” 

“Why?” Zayn asks. Their ringed fingers rest beside each other, and Zayn’s chest swells looking at them. 

“I will only marry once,” Liam tells him, as if it is obvious. “I wanted it to be done the right way.” 

Zayn places his cup on the table next to his side of the bed and then takes the plate of food away from Liam. The corner of Liam’s lips lifts before he drowns the rest of the contents of his cup and places it on the floor. 

He knees across the mattress until Liam takes him by the hips and pulls him onto his lap. “Why did you return to Castle Leoch after you escaped prison?”

Liam’s hands spread over his back, his thumbs digging into Zayn’s spine. “Ah well, with a price on my head, Zayn, I canna go back home. They will know to find me there.”

Zayn brushes the tips of his fingers across Liam’s beard. That urge to touch him there is still prominent no matter how many times he has already. “Is your sister there?”

Liam’s thick brows shoot up into his hairline in surprise.

“Harry told me. I’m sorry.”

“Ah, dinna apologize, Sassenach,” Liam says with a grin, “Nicola is there, aye. Well, I havena seen her in four years but I dinna think she would leave. My family is buried there.”

“Tell me about her.”

Liam does, soft-spokenly, as Zayn traces the lines of his face. He tells him about how they used to fight when they were little, both of them too hard-headed. He tells stories of her and his mother, how Nicola took over caring for him after his mother passed, how his first fight was with a boy who tried touching her inappropriately and Nicola had been right there, fighting beside him.

“The last time I saw her,” Liam says, his voice dropping lower, “was when the Guard took me from Lallybroch. Malik struck her across the face before me. I woke up in the back of a wagon without knowing if she was alive or dead.”

Zayn sinks into his lap, curling his arm around Liam’s neck. Liam brushes his nose against Zayn’s for a moment before plopping a kiss to his lips. 

“Paddy told me she was safe when he found me a few weeks before we found you,” Liam goes on. “He is from Lallybroch as well. My godfather. I think his heart belonged to my mother, but he will no say.”

“I knew there was a reason he follows you around,” Zayn jokes. 

Liam’s strong arms curl around his back, pressing Zayn against him. “Aye. Sworn to protect me. Tell me about your sisters.”

Zayn does, and a happiness fills him this time as he remembers their faces. They never really fought until they were older, but that was mostly Waliyha and him and it never lasted long. Safaa hated it, always bursting into tears whenever they did. It made Zayn feel guilty and he would apologize to Waliyha even if it wasn’t his fault, just to make Safaa feel better. 

They talk forever, passing questions back and forth between each other. Zayn no longer feels as if Liam is a complete stranger as minute by minute, layers of who he is are revealed. 

Their conversation fades as Liam finds the slope of Zayn’s neck and peppers kisses along the length of it. He doesn’t know what time it is, but the sky outside is a blanket of black and sparkling stars. He had started to feel tired until Liam’s touch woke him.

Not too long afterwards, Zayn rocks down on Liam, whose arms keep them together, as he comes for the second time that night. Liam’s chest heaves against his own, his heavy breath hot against his throat. 

“Ye sure it doesna hurt you?” Liam pants desperately, clinging to Zayn as his body trembles with the lingering shocks of orgasm. “Ye dinna scream this time -”

“I  _ don’t _ scream,” Zayn insists as he pushes Liam back until his head hits the pillows. “Let me show you so you stop worrying.”

When Liam doesn’t protest, Zayn slips down Liam’s torso, sucking bruises down his abdomen. Liam hisses when Zayn’s teeth dig into his skin, but the firm hand on the back of Zayn’s head encourages him to continue.

There is a tremble in Liam’s legs when they part. Zayn rubs his hands inside of them, kissing along his hips. 

It has been a long time since Zayn has done this with someone. He rubs at Liam for a moment, biting along the inside of his thigh before he gently nudges his finger in.

He feels Liam’s body tense with the a shocked inhale. He pauses, watching the heavy rise and fall of Liam’s chest before nudging his finger deeper. 

Liam’s legs dart across the bed, spreading wider before closing closer around his head. Zayn mouths at the heavy, leaking cock resting on his stomach until he feels the tension seep away from Liam.

“Do you want me to stop?” Zayn asks, as he curls his finger inside of Liam. 

“Och, no,” Liam moans quietly. 

Zayn watches him as he slowly stretches him open. The way the muscles of his belly tense almost painfully as his fingers curl into the sheets. He calls Zayn beautiful, but Zayn thinks it is Liam that really is as he watches his face scrunch together, his eyes closed and mouth parted around his breath. 

His prick hardens again between his legs as he savors the way Liam humps down towards his fingers, a silent plea for him to work deeper. Zayn complies, kissing over Liam’s thighs as he yelps out a sound that sounds half surprised.

Liam lets out a breathless, wounded sounding laugh. His skin is just as red as the strands in his hair. “I ken your meaning now, Sassenach.”

“You’ve never touched yourself like this?” Zayn asks in wonder as he rubs at Liam’s prostate. His hips work upwards into the air, his belly clenching, and for a moment Zayn wonders if he is going to come without touching his cock.

“No,” Liam breathes, pushing up on his elbows to look down at Zayn. Zayn flutters his eyes shut, overwhelmed by Liam’s burning stare as he licks a stripe over Liam’s prick. “Have you?”

“Yeah,” Zayn murmurs without embarrassment. He scissors his fingers a few times, noting that Liam doesn’t tense as he does. “Do you want my cock, Liam, or do you want to come like this?”

Liam’s hands slip over Zayn’s cheeks and dip into his hair. It has grown a bit, enough that it curls around his ears now and it is long enough for Liam to tug on it. “Yer cock, Sassenach. And then I’d like to see ye touch yerself like this.”

For a moment, Zayn considers telling Liam to ask for it, but the wide nervousness of his eyes as he watches Zayn ease his fingers out from him makes the thought fade away.

He feels the muscles in Liam’s thighs jump as he digs his fingers into them. “Ye ken,” Liam chokes out, hands curling around Zayn’s neck to pull him forward, “Until I talked to Niall, I thought ye had to um, from behind. Like horses.”

A shyness crosses Liam’s face as he laughs. Zayn finds it hard to believe someone can look so shy after saying the things Liam has said tonight.“I like it like this better. Face to face.”

Zayn folds his mouth over Liam’s, kissing him as he lines himself up between Liam’s arse cheeks. Liam’s legs are like a vice grip around him as he moves forward as slowly as he can manage. A rush of breath leaves Liam’s lips with every press deeper. Zayn feels it against his own mouth. 

“You can tell me to stop whenever you want,” Zayn says, his voice tight. “You have to tell me.”

“I wouldna,” Liam says, his eyes blown out wide. “Feels like I could come apart with ye touch, Zayn. What did ye say before?  _ Fuck _ .”

Liam’s teeth dig painfully into Zayn’s bottom lip as Zayn bottoms out. He stills, licking over his swollen lip as he stares down at Liam’s face with his elbows planted next to his head. He eases his hips back until Liam clenches around just the tip of his cock.

“Ye did - like that?” Liam breathes, clenching around Zayn experimentally as he works his hips into him again. Zayn tenses, his hips smacking hard against Liam as pleasure rolls through him. 

“Yeah,” Zayn moans, “just like that, Liam.”

Liam doesn’t last long - a few dragged out strokes have him trembling with his orgasm. His arms are tight around Zayn, hugging him to his chest. It makes Zayn feel suddenly small, like he is tiny enough to hide and disappear against Liam’s chest. 

“I think ye are tryin’ to kill me finally, Sassenach,” Liam huffs out, eyes tilted towards the ceiling when Zayn slides his softening cock from between his legs.

Zayn rolls to the side, resting his forearm on his chest. “Why would you say that?”

Liam’s hand finds the back of Zayn’s head instinctively, his fingers soft in his hair. “I thought I was breaking into pieces just now.”

Zayn snorts as he plops a kiss in the middle of Liam’s chest. He props his chin there, watching Liam’s eyes flutter closed. “So you don’t want to do it again?”

Liam’s lips push into a pout as threads his fingers through Zayn’s hair, holding him to his chest. “It is the only thing I would like to do with the rest of my life.”

Zayn snorts, rubbing his cheek against Liam’s chest. “Go to sleep. In the morning, perhaps.”

His body calms to the feel of Liam’s slow moving chest and the sound of his soft breaths filling the room. Liam moves in his sleep, curling an arm around the back of Zayn’s shoulders and holding him close, and Zayn falls asleep with his chin pressed against Liam’s chest. 

*

When Zayn wakes, he finds the bed empty beside him. He slides his hand over the sheets, feeling the warmth of Liam still lingering on the soft material.

Zayn rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. There is an ache throughout his body, and he wishes to close his eyes and fall back to sleep, but the voices in the tavern below are loud, the sun shining through the window, bright against his eyelids. 

He takes his time getting ready before finally opening the door in search of Liam. His face burns before he even appears in front of the Clan, who immediately hoot and holler the moment Zayn shows his face. 

“Oi! Sounded like Liam took care of you, laddie!” Ned shouts with a hard clap on Zayn’s back.

Zayn grimaces. He doesn’t want to know how much the others had heard - he wants to forget that they could have heard anything. “Speaking of, where is my husband?”

He tries the word out, trying to see how it feels. It is strange, like a foreign word he doesn’t know the meaning to rolling off of his tongue. 

“Payno! Yer lad isn’t done with ye yet! Loosen that kilt, ye have at least two hour’s time before we leave again!”

Zayn shoves Ned away with a laugh. Liam’s red face appears beside him a moment later, a soft smile only for Zayn on his lips.

“I was only goin’ to get some food, but Niall needed to speak with me,” Liam explains apologetically. His hand rests possessively over Zayn’s lower back as he guides him to an empty table. “Ye are glowing like a star in the sky, Sassenach.”

Zayn feels his cheeks burn. “Is everything okay? With your cousin?”

“Aye,” Liam says, but his expression looks unsure, “We have two more villages to visit for rent and then we will return home to Castle Leoch.”

Zayn nods, shredding apart the bread with his fingers. He has longed for his Aunty’s cooking while he has been here. He had felt like he had never eaten before the first time he ever tried her food. The food here is bland, and he wonders what year seasoning started to become a thing. 

“I asked Nialler if I could take ye on to Craigh na Dun. After the next village, we can go.”

Zayn stills, Liam’s words echoing over and over again in his head. He has longed to go there, but suddenly he feels as he has been hurtled against a wall. 

“I - You are sure?”

Liam nods, sliding his hand under the table to grab onto the one Zayn has resting against his leg. “Tis’ important to ye, Sassenach. I have my own token from my sister - a little wooden snake she carved, I would have done the same to find it if I had lost it.”

Zayn shoves bread into his mouth, unsure of what to say. He failed at not getting attached. For the first time since he came through those stones, he has a reason to not go back through them.

And he worries about the disappointment of not being able to return. What if he touches the stones and that awful feeling never comes to him? What if the truth is that he can’t ever see his sisters again? It is not something he is eager to find out. 

“We will leave for the next village soon. Eat,” Liam whispers as he squeezes his hand again and presses a kiss to his temple. “Get your energy back, Sassenach. Ye promised me we would  _ ‘fuck’ _ again in the morning.”

Zayn shoves him away playfully. “I don’t quite like that word coming out of your mouth, actually.”

Zayn eats a little, as much as his stomach can handle, and packs the rest for the trip. He feels as nervous as he did the night before, his surroundings a blur around him. What if Liam panics when he disappears and follows after him?

It almost makes him laugh, thinking about it. Liam wouldn’t fit in his time, at all. Not if he thinks the word  _ fuck  _ is strange. 

He hears Liam return as he buttons his shirt and stares into the milky mirror. It might be nice to be in some softer clothes again. These itch at times. 

Liam presses to his back, arms curling around his waist. He presses a kiss to the curve of Zayn’s neck. The hesitancy is back in his own face - Zayn can see it through the mirror. He hates how much he likes the way they fit together. 

“Alright?”

Zayn turns in Liam’s arms to wrap his hands around the back of his neck. He kisses Liam, savoring the taste of his lips and their last few moments of the honeymoon stage before he returns home in just a few days time. In just a few days he will know if he will ever see his sisters again.

Liam pulls away to look over Zayn’s face. He wonders if Liam can see the guilt there. He had said the night before he would only ever marry once, would that stay true if he only is married one day?

It shouldn’t matter if he does, but it will if he doesn’t. Liam doesn’t seem like the type to break his vows. 

“Let’s go, before I consider undressing and delaying us further.”

A grumble that sounds like a wounded growl rumbles in Liam’s throat. “Tis not a bad idea, Sassenach.”

*

The next village is a small one. There are few houses and the villagers are thinner than the ones he has seen before. Children don’t play in the streets, but lug baskets and barrels behind their parents. The clansmen’s usual eagerness upon entering a new village is long gone. They all look as grim as the village appears to be.

“The men and women here dinna have as much to offer,” Harry whispers to Zayn as they watch the men set up their tables again. “There are O’Braonain’s here if ye’d like me to take ye to them.”

Zayn’s stomach turns over. “Is Bridgette from here?”

“Aye,” Harry grunts. “Came to the castle as a wee bairn. Her father had nothin’ else to give.”

Zayn lets out a gasp of horror, unable to hold it in. “You mean -”

“No,” Harry says quickly, waving his hands frantically in front of him, “Bridgette is talented with a needle. She made clothes and the like. Overtime, she became in charge of nearly everything. Even Gregory.”

Relief washes through Zayn, but a sadness still tugs at his heart. 

As if reading his mind, Harry curls an arm around his shoulders to reassure him. “It was how her father could assure she would be fed, ye ken.”

“Doesn’t make it less sad,” Zayn explains.

Harry tugs him away from the carriages and towards the small cluster of houses. People slowly filter out of their houses, holding small bags or leashes to tiny small, under fed animals in their hands. The distressed look on their faces is hard to miss. “Och, you are right, mi’lord.”

“You don’t have to call me that,” Zayn tells him. Since his marriage, the men of Clan Horan have been more open about calling Liam by his real last name around him. More than a few have called him  _ mi’lord _ , and he doesn’t understand why, but it doesn’t sit well with him. 

“It is would be a dishonor to ye if I dinna,” Harry explains simply. Zayn doesn’t argue, doesn’t want to tell Harry he is wrong about something he has known as right all of his life. 

Harry brings him to the home farthest away from the men. There is a woman sitting on the steps outside, her skirt billowing out below her. There is a blanket of sorts wrapped around her shoulders, and between her arms, Zayn can just make out the top of a baby’s bald head. 

“Freya O’Braonain.”

Zayn starts to bow the way Harry is, but a warning pinch from Harry keeps him standing still. The woman looks up, her eyes wide with worry. 

“I am Harry Styles. A friend of Bridgette’s. And this is Mister Gibbons, a friend as well.”

The woman visibly relaxes. “What can I do for ye?”

“It is terribly boring collecting rent,” Harry explains, that charming smile on his face, “and Mister Gibbons here has been in search of his family. Your Great Aunt sent us here.”

The woman stands, rocking the baby carefully in her arms. “Come in. I apologize, Mister Gibbons, that I do not have much in the ways of food and drink to offer you.”

Zayn puts a hand up to wave her off. “It is quite alright, Freya. Boy or girl?”

“Boy,” Freya says, warmth taking over her face as she smiles down at her son. She pulls the blanket back to show Zayn his sleeping face. “Donal.”

Zayn touches the little cheek gently. His heart pounds in his chest. Donal Brannan was the last of his mother’s ancestor he had found. He had pinned the name to the top of the family tree he had been building in his room at the inn. 

He was supposed to search through archives to find more the day he stepped through the stones of Craigh na Dun.

“Is he a good baby?” Zayn asks as he follows Freya inside.

“Fusses a lot. I have had trouble producin’ milk, ye ken. And the goats are all we have to give to yer men.”

Freya looks at them with wide eyes. “No offense meant. I apologize. This is why my husband dinna want me to bring the rent. I dinna think before I speak.”

“No offense taken,” Zayn insists. “You can be free with your words. I am not of Clan Horan.”

The woman still looks regretful before she turns again and leads them through the house and to the back. In the small field behind their house there is a small garden with patches of dirt from where their goat must have eaten the grass. 

“He must have left,” Freya says, more to herself than them, her voice sad. “My husband, Alick, Bridgette’s great nephew, he must have went to pay the rent.”

“What did he give?” Zayn asks with concern. The baby whines and whimpers quietly as he wakes. “A goat?”

“Aye,” Freya says. She hums a lullaby to the little boy, one that Zayn recognizes well. 

His mother used to sing it to him when he couldn’t fall asleep. He hasn’t heard it since, and though he has tried to mimic it for his sisters, he never did it justice and forgot too many of the words.

“Don’t worry, Missus O’Braonain,” Zayn says, taking one of her thin hands into his own. “I will be back shortly.”

Harry jogs to keep up with his fast pacing as Zayn leaves the house quickly. He grabs onto his shoulder, but Zayn pulls away from him.

“I ken yer plan, mi’lord. Ye canna interfere with the rent.”

“I’m not.”

“Dinna lie to me,” Harry grunts, but he doesn’t say more as he follows Zayn.

It is a small line leading up to Niall’s table. Liam stands beside him, his brows pushed together tightly and his jaw tense. His eyes find Zayn and follow where Zayn is looking. 

It is easy finding which one is Alick. He looks so much like Bridgette, and even more like Zayn’s own mum. It is more than the eyes, but the dark red brown hair, and the shape of his face. He thinks it is what Bridgette would have looked like when she was younger and less wrinkled.

“What is it Sassenach?” Liam whispers with concern as he grips Zayn’s elbow once he is near enough. 

“The man there,” Zayn mutters, nudging his head, “with the goat. Do ye see him?” 

Liam glances at the man quickly before turning his eyes back on Zayn. “Aye, what is it?” 

“He has a new born baby that can’t feed from his mother. They don’t have wet nurses here, Liam, that goat is the only thing that can feed their child.”

Liam’s face breaks in understanding, his grip loosening around Zayn’s elbow. “I ken your meaning, Sassenach. But I have already dug deep into the rent to help in previous villages. Gregory isna going to care how good of a soldier I am to him if I keep turning rent away.”

Zayn breathes through his nose the way Bridgette does when she is annoyed. “Look at that man’s face.”

Liam looks frustrated with Zayn. “It is Alick O’Braonain, I ken him well, Zayn -”

“His eyes, Liam.”

Liam finally tears his own eyes away from Zayn to look at the man. Understanding crosses his face in an instant. 

Zayn takes Liam’s hand into his own, gently circling a finger over his palm. “He looks just like my mother. I will let Niall embarrass me at the pub the way he does to you if that is what it takes, Liam.”

The muscle in his jaw flickers a few times, his lips pressing together hard. “I wilna let ye do that, Sassenach. I rather take fifty lashings again then let anyone humiliate ye for any reason.”

“That is not -” Zayn starts to argue, but Liam drops his hand and walks away from him. Zayn watches as he walks up to Alick, clasping a hand to his shoulder. He guides the man away from the line of villagers and Zayn watches them go, feeling the burn of Niall’s eyes on the side of his face.

“Take the jewels out of yer ears, lad,” says a voice behind him. He turns to find Paddy standing where Liam had been. “Or ye will wake up with them gone. And yer gonna be needing them to pay off the amount of goods Liam and you have cost the lord.”

Zayn stalks off, with Harry following at his heels. He keeps going until he finds the local tavern - the tavern that will no doubt be filled with the tenants tonight, giving over the last of their coins to Niall for a cause that will fail. 

“Paddy is right, ye ken. Niall will cover with his own money to keep Liam from being flogged, but it is in all its right stealing from the Laird.”

Harry looks apologetic when he says this, but it doesn’t make Zayn feel any better. He is beginning to think Liam had been lashed for stealing something that would help someone. 

“Who is stealing from  _ these _ people,” Zayn tells him. He had paid rent before, he understands that is the way things work in any time. But leaving a baby  _ hungry _ ? 

A woman approaches them with an apron around her waist and a large, circular plate held in her hands. Zayn notices the way her eyes take in the earrings he wears in his ears before she asks them what they will be having. 

“Jesus Christ,” Harry cusses, but there is an amused grin on his lips. “Ye and Liam really are meant to be together.”

Zayn feels his face grow hot. “Why do you say that?” 

Harry doesn’t answer, he just leans back and laughs loudly until the sound is echoing off the walls and easing away the tension in Zayn’s body. 

Awhile later, the tavern starts to fill as Liam and Niall return from collecting rent. A few of the clansmen are already pretty drunk, but after one sip of whiskey, Zayn had decided he didn’t actually want to get drunk. He has only had a few sips since, with Harry stealing most of it.

He watches as Rupert grabs Liam’s shoulder to get his attention, or to take it away from Niall, who immediately turns his attention to Zayn.

It is discreet, Zayn thinks, the way Niall pushes him back into one of the walls. Niall’s eyes are narrowed and threatening. “I have done a lot for you, lad. I canna return to the castle with unaccounted-for wages.”

“Your Laird won’t hurt you,” Zayn grits out. Harry stands beside them, eyes darting between the two of them. “You're his brother.”

“Aye. There is a lot of things ye can do to a man that still hurts, even if it isna to my body,” Niall says, voice like poison. “Ye wilna interfere in my business again, ye hear me lad? Liam disobeyed my orders to punish ye once, I will make sure it doesna happen again if ye step a toe out of line.”

Niall lets go of the grip he has on Zayn. Zayn’s chest rises and falls quickly, betraying the calm defiance he had wanted to portray. There is the sound of a scuffle behind them, and Zayn hears the distinct sound of Liam’s thick accent amongst the loud noise.

“Not everyone can stuff their faces and sneak off to a kitchen to eat more,” Zayn shoots back, “None of these people should go without because they weren’t born a Horan.”

Niall huffs out an unamused laugh. “I agree with ye lad. But none of these men have to return empty handed to a brother that can take away a man’s reason for living.”

He doesn’t look at Harry but the way Harry’s face breaks tells Zayn what Niall means. Niall shoves away from him roughly.

Harry glances at him worriedly until Zayn shoos him away to go after Niall, who shouts out for the attention of the crowd.

Zayn finds Liam’s eyes, which burn with rage, but he doesn’t move towards him. They both know it is coming, and Zayn sinks against the wall in anticipation of Niall’s display of Liam’s wounds.

“Excuse me, Mister Gibbons?”

Zayn turns to find his mother’s face looking at him. It has a man’s hard lines and hollowed cheeks from hunger. Alick takes Zayn’s hand into his own, bending forward into a bow.

“My wife and I thank ye kindly. If there is any service ye need - ”

“None of that,” Zayn says quickly, feeling slightly embarrassed by the attention. “You owe me nothing but a small favor.”

Alick stands tall again, looking at him with expectant eyes. Zayn doesn’t know how to say it without explanation, and he prays quietly that the man won’t ask for one. 

“There will be an uprising,” Zayn whispers, holding the man’s hand against his torso to keep him close enough to hear him. “Do not participate. And plant potatoes. Everywhere. Do not tell anyone who told you this, but tell the rest of the village it is important to plant potatoes.”

“Potatoes,” Alick repeats as if the word is foreign to him. “Aye, I can do that sir. My wife told me ye are searching for yer family, if I can be of service.”

Zayn nods, squeezing the man’s hand reassuringly. “They are not too far from here,” he says, without explaining. “Go on home to that wife of yours.”

The man’s smile makes him look less sickly. “Are ye a witch? I mean no offense but - ”

Zayn snorts. “No, and don’t go telling people that,” he jokes.  _ Please don’t _ , he thinks. He has enough on his plate as is. He can’t afford having people go around calling him a witch. 

The man nods furiously, thanking Zayn a million more times. By the time he finally leaves and disappears from the tavern, Liam’s torn shirt is already in Liam’s hands. The crowd is chanting  _ Bragh Stuart. _ He doesn’t know what Bragh means, but the anger and excitement tells him they fell for Niall’s display of support for Prince Charlie Stuart. 

Liam makes his way to him and Zayn takes the fabric from him. “I don’t know that we can keep stitching this shirt back together.”

“Aye,” Liam breathes tiredly before leaning towards him. He rests an arm on the wall beside Zayn’s head before kissing him softly. There is a rumble of noise around them that makes Zayn’s cheeks hot but Liam only kisses him harder. “I shouldna agreed to marry ye, Sassenach.”

The words are whispered against his lips but loud enough for Zayn to hear. Zayn pulls away, hurt making his chest tight. 

Liam smiles softly, his nose wrinkling as he traces a finger down Zayn’s nose. “Ye make me feel things I havena before,” he whispers again.

Zayn tucks his face against Liam’s chest to hide the relief that he knows must be showing on his face. Liam presses against him, hiding him away from the people around them.

“Nialler wilna lay a hand on ye,” Liam promises. “But if he doesna show a hand of force the men wilna follow him.”

Zayn bites his tongue to stop himself responding. It makes sense, he guesses. But he thinks the tenants of this village will show more loyalty to a man who cares about their well being, if support is what Niall is looking for. Otherwise, he looks just as awful as the men who tortured Liam are.

“Come with me, Sassenach,” Liam says as he pulls away from Zayn. “I want ye to tell me everything ye remember about your mum.”

Zayn lets Liam lead him out of the tavern and outside, where the cold air makes him sink into the warmth of Liam’s body. Liam stitches together the pieces of his shirt as Zayn talks, never saying a word himself.

Zayn finds himself revealing more than he intends to. He had been eight when his mother passed, his memories so faded that he isn’t quite sure which ones are real and which one are just thoughts he has always had about his mother that he unknowingly formed into memories. He tells Liam all of them, careful not to confuse Liam with things that do not exist yet. 

“What are trainers?” Liam asks once the quiet falls around them, only the distant rumble of the tavern in the air. “Ye said ye would fight with her when she tried to put them on ye.”

”Like boots,” Zayn murmurs, tucking himself into Liam’s side to muffle his laughter at the pout of Liam’s lips. “I would hide them from her so she wouldn’t put them on my feet. She always found them.”

Liam curls an arm around him, his body shaking with laughter. “Can you sneak better without them?”

“I don’t think so,” Zayn chuckles, as he plants a kiss to that birthmark staining Liam’s throat.

“Can I ask ye something, Sassenach? I mean no offense.”

Zayn curls an arm around Liam’s bare stomach. “Of course.”

“Ye have your mother’s name and not your father's,” Liam starts apprehensively, “but your father raised ye?”

Zayn nods, closing his eyes as he tries to search for a reason for that that will make sense to Liam. But Liam doesn’t ask any more questions.

“My father was a bastard,” Liam starts quietly. “My grandfather’s only son. He dinna take the name Payne until my mother was first with child. My grandfather dinna allow him until he realized he wouldna have a son again and he only wanted a Payne ruling Lallybroch.”

“Is he still alive?”

“Aye,” Liam mutters before turning his body so he is facing Zayn. “I am sure Nicola is giving him hell.”

Zayn’s laugh is muffled as Liam’s lips slide against his. Liam kisses him softly and carefully, his fingers delicate against the side of his head, threading through his hair.

“Liam,” Zayn murmurs against his lips. Liam doesn’t pull away at first, but kisses him once more.

“ _ Mo duinne _ ,” Liam says with a soft grin. 

Zayn flattens his palm against Liam’s chest, looking for his steady heartbeat. “I didn’t tell you this before but it was the same for me. I agreed to marry you because I wanted you as well.”

Liam’s grin widens. “‘Wanted?’ Do ye still want me now?”

Zayn curls his arms around Liam’s shoulders, pulling them closer together. “Aye.”

*

They part from Niall and the rest of the clan with a promise to meet in two days time. Paddy rides a few feet behind them, allowing Liam and Zayn a bit of privacy they don’t need. They don’t talk much about anything at all. Liam asks him more questions about himself, little things, like his favorite smell or favorite color. 

They don’t break, though Liam asks often if Zayn wants to. He is becoming a little more accustomed to the horse, but the horse doesn’t seem to like him much. He puts up a fight when Zayn tries to pet his face, and it usually takes Liam talking to the horse until he finally lets up and lets Zayn onto his back again.

When Zayn finally spots the stones in the distance, his world tilts again. He can’t shake the heaviness on his shoulders, or the worry gripping at his chest. His mind races with too many things to just focus on one.

And through it all, he feels Liam’s constant glances his way, but the lad never says a word. 

Zayn doesn’t understand why it feels as if he is ripping off his arm every time he considers leaving through the stones. He misses his sisters, badly. They are his family, his only family for nearly his whole life. He just met Liam.

Zayn glances at Liam, who stares straight ahead. It is a truth he hasn’t acknowledged, but he has had an attachment to Liam the moment he saw him struggling on the ground next to his horse’s hooves. He doesn’t know why, he doesn’t believe in love at first sight like Safaa does. He thinks it’s ridiculous, really. It is only attraction at first sight.

But it has always felt more than attraction with Liam, even if Zayn never let himself think it. His attraction to Liam is strong, yes, but that wouldn’t keep him from his sisters.

“Sassenach,” Liam says after a moment, side eyeing Zayn, “Whenever ye think too hard, I can see it on your face.”

Zayn grimaces. He could lie, but he doesn’t want to. And though he  _ is _ thinking about his sisters, saying it is only that feels like a lie. However, he can’t find the words or a way to explain that he is from the fucking future so Liam shouldn’t be alarmed when he randomly disappears.

Before, he had only touched the stones. Would it work the same way again?

Liam glances behind him, fingers in the air as they approach the hill below the stones. Paddy falls behind, circling his horse around before trotting farther away from them.

Liam stops his horse, but doesn’t get off of it. He peers at Zayn for awhile before he finally speaks.“If yer plannin’ on leaving and returning to yer family, I wilna stop you.”

Zayn wonders if it is possible for his heart to fly out of his chest from nerves or surprise. He didn’t realize his face was that much of an open book. If it is, can Liam see how much he is struggling with going home?

“I will wait for yer return, if you choose to.”

Liam’s face softens at Zayn’s silence, realization crossing his face. “I thought that might be the cause of your silence,” he says after a moment, and then he jumps from his horse. “And when I told ye my plans to bring ye here I thought ye would be happy, but ye looked as if ye stepped in horse dung.”

His strong hands capture Zayn’s as he helps him down. He holds them tightly before leaning forward and slotting his lips against Zayn’s. 

“I wish to go with ye,” Liam says, resting his head against Zayn’s, “to keep ye safe. But I dinna ken if I would bring more harm yer way if someone were to recognize me.”

Zayn still doesn’t speak. Anger sparks inside of him. Liam is making it harder for him to move his feet in the direction of home. 

The smile on Liam’s lips is softer than Zayn has seen it before. “Go on, Sassenach. Paddy and I will make camp for the night.”

“Does Clan Horan fight for the Jacobite cause?”

Liam stills, eyes widening in alarm and hesitancy. Zayn slaps himself mentally. It hadn’t been the best way to find out if Liam plans on fighting for the Pretender to the Throne. 

But it has been at the back of his mind. Nearly all of the Clans are destroyed at the end of the Uprising. In only a year. Liam is young, too young for that.

“I dinna ken,” Liam says, his thick brows pushing together. 

“I only ask,” Zayn starts, swallowing thickly as he tries to find a way to tell Liam why he has asked and assure him that he isn’t prying for information, “because I think a war is coming.”

Liam’s lips flicker up but there is no smile in his eyes. “Dinna tell me yer a witch now, Sassenach.”

“No,” Zayn laughs hoarsely, squeezing Liam’s fingers, “there have just been Uprisings before where the Highlanders have lost, and I was wondering about Niall’s speeches at the taverns. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

His words come out fast and jumbled. He realizes anything he wants to say to Liam, he has to say them now, and suddenly his mind is rushing with a thousand different things.

“Oh, Zayn,” Liam says softly, cupping Zayn’s cheek with the palm of his hand, “I have told ye a thousand times not to worry about me. Niall supports the Jacobite cause but Gregory doesna. I dinna ken about the other men and I dinna care who sits on the Throne. Right now I care about ye finding yer family.”

Zayn rests his head on Liam’s chest, savoring the sound of his heart beat as Liam pets the hairs on the back of his head. His ache for his sisters matches the ache he feels about walking away from Liam.

“Return to me with those sisters of yers,” Liam asks as he moves Zayn’s face away from his chest, his hands cradling his cheeks, “and I will bring ye to my home to meet mine.”

Zayn nods. He swallows down the ache as Liam kisses him again, a hard press of the lips. He clings to Liam, molding his mouth against those soft lips. Liam sucks his bottom one gently, a thing Zayn notices Liam loves to do before he pulls away. A thing Zayn is going to miss.

Liam lets go of him suddenly, his head jerking in a nod before he clambers back onto his horse. “I will be close, making camp for the night if ye - well.”

He doesn’t say it, but Zayn sees the flicker of hope in his eyes. 

Zayn watches him command the horse to turn around and trot off in the direction of Paddy. He stands there long after Liam has disappeared into the trees, regretful that he didn’t say any of the things he wanted to.

He didn’t even say goodbye. He doesn’t think he would be able to. 

Zayn works his way up the hill, thighs burning from the night before and riding the horse all day. He will have to start going to the gym once he gets home, so if he ever decides to return to Liam, he can actually keep up with him.

Nerves bubble inside of him as he walks around the stones. He rubs at the metal ring around his finger anxiously. 

Just a touch, that is all it took before. He doesn’t hear the buzzing of bees, but he hadn’t when he first touched the stones. Was he touching them? Was the time of day important? If so, he cannot remember and he doesn’t know what he needs to do to return home.

The tallest stone stands in the middle, the one Zayn had stood behind while the Horan Clan had approached. Where Liam had fallen from his horse. 

Zayn stares at the ring Liam had made for him as he hovers his hand over the stones. He used to wear his father’s wedding ring around his neck. He could put it on that chain as well. Or he could keep it on his finger where it belongs.

The image of his sisters smiling, hands on their bellies as they laugh, comes to his mind. It doesn’t last long before it changes to the crinkles by Liam’s eyes when he laughs with his mouth wide open. 

Everything Liam knows is here. He might miss Zayn at first, but his life will go on the same as he had before. His understanding for Zayn’s departure makes it harder for Zayn to touch the stone, like he had wrapped an invisible string around Zayn’s wrist and he is tugging on it from where him and Paddy have made camp. 

Zayn pushes the thought away, focusing hard on his little sister’s face and trying to forget the way his heart has started to beat the sound of Liam’s name as he lays his hand flat over the cold stone. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The feedback has been so amazing! Seriously, thank you so much!! <3 <3 <3

Liam stares up at the dark, star-spattered sky from where he lays on the wool blanket he had brought with him. He knew he would need it once he realized he might lose the comfort of Zayn’s warm hands. He searches for the constellations the way his da taught him, but he sees nothing but his husband’s face outlined in the sky.

He hadn’t been sure about Zayn wanting to leave, but the expression that had crossed Zayn’s face when he first mentioned bringing him back to the stones made him wonder, and the silence during their trip only confirmed his worries. 

The clusters of stars stare back at Liam, twinkling and shining and reminding him of the way Zayn’s eyes had lit up when he talked about his life and his family just the night before. He cusses at himself quietly, trying to will his thoughts from not returning to Zayn, but his attempts fail.

Every whisper of wind that causes the leaves to scatter across the ground makes Liam jerk his head around. There is a distant hope inside of him that he will see Zayn walking through the trees to return to him. It is a selfish thing to expect, so he shoves the thought away the moment it arrives.

He hates that he cannot return home and be with his sister, cannot be where he feels most himself. He doesn’t want Zayn to suffer the same fate but he already feels as if a hole has been punched out in his chest. 

Paddy snores beside him, disturbing the quiet of the night. Liam touches over his bottom lip, remembering the way it had felt to have Zayn’s lips against his. His lips are just as soft as his palms, his hair even softer.  _ Mo duinne _ . He likes the flecks of red and gold in the strands that can only be seen while under the afternoon sun, the same as the gold flecks in his irises.

He is even fond of the small freckle next to his left iris and the small patch of hair that grows in the opposite direction as the rest of the hair of his eyebrows.

It is confusing to him, how much he longs to see Zayn again after such a short time of knowing him. He had been honest about it to Zayn, telling him how badly he has wanted him since the first moment he had laid eyes on him. He doesn’t know if Zayn feels the same, or at least, if the lad feels as strongly as he does, but there is a flicker of hope in his chest that he feels enough to return to him one day. He hopes the conflict that had been on Zayn’s face was a sign of that. 

Liam sighs, rolling over to curl his arms under his head. He would wait, he meant it. He had vowed himself to Zayn in front of God, every piece of him; blood, bone, and spirit is Zayn’s  _ ‘til our life shall be done. _

Maybe Zayn will return to him once he is reunited with his sisters. But if that is Zayn’s plan, why had he not told him? 

Liam lets his eyes fall shut so he can focus on the images of Zayn’s bare skin on the back of his eyelids. He smiles as he remembers the strange bird drawn on his hip. There is so much that is strange about Zayn - his words, his accent. It is a different accent than the one he is accustomed to hearing from the British men, but he likes it much more.

He loses himself in the thought of Zayn, not noticing the stir of the horses or the crunching of the leaves under boots. He isn’t aware of the presence of someone else until there is a hand knocking against his cheekbone.

Liam moves quickly, cursing at himself again for letting Zayn distract him when the lad isn’t even here. He grabs the dirk tucked into his belt, quick as lightning as he moves it under the jaw of the person kneeling beside him. Paddy had taught Niall and him how to strike with both hands, mostly their non dominant, but Liam still does not like when his left hand is his only option.

“Ach!  _ Shit, _ Liam, it is me!”

Liam’s chest falls fast and heavy as he stares back into the dark brown, gold flecked eyes he had just been lost in thought about. They are watery and red rimmed, as if he had been crying. There is no fear in them despite the knife pressing against the thin flesh of his neck.

“Sassenach?” Liam breathes in disbelief, dropping the dirk like it has burned his hand so it bounces between them. His heart grows with relief until it feels as if it is exploding inside of his chest.  “What are ye doing here?”

“I couldn’t leave you,” Zayn says, his voice just a whisper under the wind. 

Liam grabs for Zayn, an urgency in his hands to make sure Zayn is real and actually in front of him. “I said I would wait for ye lad, I didna expect ye to come to me so soon,” Liam says desperately. 

Just a moment before he had been hoping Zayn would appear before him, but now that his eyes lay on him he wonders if his mind is showing him what he wants, not the truth. Sometimes Liam really does think Zayn is a witch, and that seems like something a witch could do. 

“Do you want me to go, Liam?” 

“No, no, no,” Liam blurts frantically. “I wanted ye to return to me, Sassenach, even though I felt like the devil himself to wish keeping ye from yer family.”

He stands with Zayn, forgetting about the weapon on the ground. His rough hands slide over the soft skin of Zayn’s cheeks before he reaches to grab his hand.

There is something about them, so smooth and uncalloused, the lines not cracked and dry like his own. His slender, bony fingers, and the metal of the ring he had given him twinkling under the stars. 

“Always with the dramatics,” Zayn laughs wetly, “I always hated it when my foster parents watched soap operas but I’m starting to understand.”

Zayn stares down between them as their hands touch. He says things sometimes that Liam does not understand, and looks amused or embarrassed when Liam asks him for clarification. Liam is fond of the way Zayn hides his face in embarrassment, though he never wants him to feel as if he needs to.

“Soap opera,” Liam repeats in question.

Zayn’s face scrunches together as he shakes his head. “I have wanted to be with my sisters so much it has hurt, but thinking about leaving you felt just as awful. Stay close to me, please?”

“Aye, I canna move from ye, Sassenach. I dinna ken if I can handle a piece of me breaking off again so soon,” Liam breathes, watching the way the tip of Zayn’s fingers look sliding against his own. “If ye change yer mind, I will understand, but -”

Zayn slips the hand over the back of Liam’s neck, his fingers tugging through the curls at the back of his head. It isn’t gentle, but it is just as urgent as the look in his eyes. “Shh.”

Liam slips his hands under Zayn’s thighs, lifting him before their mouths slide together. He is aware of Paddy only a few feet from them as he stumbles, but he doesn’t care about anything other than the feeling of Zayn clinging to him.

“I won’t,” Zayn swears, his voice huffed out as his back hits a tree. Liam wants to apologize, his excitement to have Zayn pressed against him again makes him feel as if he does not have control of himself, but Zayn’s mouth is on him once more. 

Liam had lost himself in the thought of Zayn, and now he loses himself in the touch. It is rushed and awkward, but Liam feels as if the pieces he were missing while Zayn was gone are stitching back together as their bodies connect. They are far enough in the woods that the tops of the trees block out the moonlight, but Liam knows even if he lost his sight, he would still be able to see Zayn.

“Ye were only gone a few hours and I felt like I lost my head without ye,” Liam whispers between harsh breaths as he slaps his hips against Zayn’s, his weight supported by the tree and his arms clinging tightly to Liam’s back. 

He knew it would feel good, but he had not expected just how good it felt to be inside of Zayn. He wouldn’t be surprised if that was only a feeling that came with  _ being  _ with Zayn. 

Zayn cries out softly when Liam curls his hands around him, the movements of his hand just as quick and rushed as the hard slap of his hips. A pinch of pain settles in his back from the arch of it, but it washes away as pleasure courses through him when he feels Zayn clench around his cock.

His legs feel weak as he curls his fingers between Zayn’s when they walk back to the camp. Paddy’s snores still sound off into the night, and he barely stirs as Liam lays back down where he had been.

“An awful bodyguard you have there,” Zayn laughs as he falls to his knees beside him. “Sleeps like the dead.”

Liam pulls Zayn down the rest of the way until Zayn is pressed against his side, his fingers tangling into his shirt as Liam curls an arm around him. They are aligned completely, but Liam wishes he were closer.

“I dinna understand the things ye say sometimes, Sassenach.”

Zayn tucks his giggle into the curve of Liam’s neck, his fingers tickling over Liam’s chest until they slip between the buttons of his shirt. His hands are cold against his warm skin, almost as cold as the night air around them.

“Do you understand I am sorry for worrying you?”

Liam tightens his arm around him. “Ye dinna need to apologize, Sassenach. Sleep now, and be here when I wake.”

*

The moment Zayn’s hand had laid against the cold stone, a panic so strong he nearly lost the contents of his stomach washed over him. He had ripped his hand away so fast it felt as if he blew out his shoulder.

Zayn had crumpled to the ground before the stone, face falling into his palms. His worry of his sisters thinking he was missing was such a distant echo, he could not hear anything but his longing for Liam.

As soon as he had touched the stone, the fear of never seeing him again was right there, and the feeling was worse than the feeling he had when he came through the stones. His aunty had told him during heads and tails that if he wanted to flip the coin a second time, then he already had his answer. Zayn couldn’t find his answer until he had realized that he did not want the result the stones would give him.

He had sat there for hours, unsure of whether he had done the right thing or not, crying into the palms of his hands. He had not heard the sound of buzzing bees once while he sat there, and he refused to think that even if he could bear leaving Liam, the stones would not let him.

When the sun started to disappear beneath the horizon, the expanse of the field made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, as if someone had been watching him. His feet finally lifted him and had carried him down the hill to the man who could ease his ache and provide him with a sense of security.

Zayn had jumped from home to home, always searching for one to feel really like what it should feel like because his home in Bradford never did. 

But Liam does. Being next to him gives Zayn that warm, at peace feeling he has been searching for. 

It was completely dark by the time he had found Liam’s camp, so well-hidden beneath the trees that Zayn had to follow the smell of fire to find him. Zayn wonders if he had hoped for him to change his mind, or if he was already making plans to occupy his time until Zayn returned with his sisters. 

Seeing Liam laying there with help of the dying fire, his eyes closed with that smile on his lips made the comfort Zayn had been savoring over the last few days cover him again like a blanket. Parting from Liam felt wrong, like there is an emptiness inside of him. That emptiness had filled the moment he ran his fingers over Liam’s cheek, even if a moment later Liam’s eyes were raging and there was a blade to his throat.

“ _ Sassenach _ ?”

Paddy doesn’t seem surprised to see him, sitting beside the fire, when he wakes the next morning. He glares at him a bit before rubbing his eyes.

“Did ye find yer toy, lad?”

“No,” Zayn grumbles, his arms curling around his abdomen. 

“I am sure Liam will make ye a new one to replace it,” Paddy sighs as he stretches and stands. Zayn has never thought the older man to be much in the way of expressions. There is always a bored look on his face, other than when he is trying to tell Liam not to do something stupid. 

Liam returns with food and a grin plastered onto his face, which remains there as he cooks over the fire. They leave shortly after, and no heaviness weighs Zayn down as they move farther away from the stones.

His sisters were okay with him leaving to Scotland for a few months, four originally. They would be okay with him being gone a little longer. The thought doesn’t do too much in the way of comforting his guilt, but he forgets it every time Liam touches the inside of his palm. 

Zayn has been in this time for nearly three months now; he has at least another month until his flight back home. He has to think about it for a second - he had arrived in August of 1744, but it had been May when he walked through the stones in 1996. 

It is nightfall again when they reach the rest of the Clan. They walk in on Niall’s speech to the tenants, and Zayn feels Liam tense as Niall gestures for him to come over and remove his shirt again. 

Zayn hates the eyes on Liam like that, and the waves of shock that filter through the room. He hates that Niall uses Liam for his scars and he hates that Liam lets him without any argument at all. 

He watches Liam strangle his shirt back on. He has picked up some of the words, and he knows with horror that Niall is indeed talking about the Pretender, Prince Charlie. Niall doesn’t seem very religious to him and, if he remembers correctly, the Uprisings had been caused by Charlie claiming his father was the true King, and the Highlanders support for a Catholic king back on the throne.

Liam’s fingers curl around Zayn’s wrist as he walks by, dragging him along with him. They don’t get very far before Liam’s hands are warming over his skin, and his lips desperate on his own.

“ _ You _ , Sassenach, are the only one in there that looks at my wounds and doesna make me feel pitied. You are the only one who touches me and makes me feel as if the scars are not even there.”

Each time touching Liam is like the first. Zayn thinks he could waste days of his time losing himself in the feel of Liam against him. He never seems to last long with Liam inside of him, too overwhelmed by the feel of it.  He is suddenly grateful for them going bare under the kilts, instead of having to struggle with belts and pants caught around ankles. 

“Do you have a thing for having sex where people might hear you?” Zayn breathes, as he tucks Liam’s shirt into his kilt.

“Och, no, but I dinna think I could wait to get you up the stairs. Not while walking behind ye with that bum of yours in my face.”

Zayn pretends to glare at Liam’s shit eating smile. Pink trials down his neck, where bruises from Zayn’s mouth have started to fade into a yellowish color.

“I don’t have a bum,” Zayn tells him.

In response, Liam grips him, his fingers biting into the small round of his arse before he lets go and gives him a small, appreciative slap. “That is a bum to me.”

Zayn snorts, shoving Liam away from him playfully. “Why do you let Niall do this to you?”

The light still shines in Liam’s face but it dims as he crowds Zayn against the wall. “I dinna ken to know why. Niall is my friend, cousin. But I swore loyalty to Clan Horan, no different than the other men. At least tonight, he dinna shred my only shirt.”

Zayn frowns as he slips his hands over Liam’s sides. He can’t begin to understand the workings of the clans. It doesn’t make much sense to him and neither does Liam’s explanation.

“I dinna care who sees my back, Sassenach,” Liam says softly, tilting Zayn’s chin up with a gentle touch.

“You look like you care,” Zayn explains.

Liam lets out that  _ mmmphm _ noise. “Have a drink with me, Lord Payne. The men will no have pity for me when they see how lucky I am to be yours.”

Zayn pulls his head back, quirking a brow up at Liam. “I am a lord now?”

“Aye, did I forget to tell ye that?” Liam responds with his nose wrinkling adorably. “Lord of Broch Tuarach, or Lallybroch. My home.”

Liam moves away enough to grasp Zayn’s hand, his thumb running over his wedding ring. “It means north facing tower. This ring is made from the key to it. For what is mine is now yours. Including me.”

Zayn feels his face grow so hot he wants to hide it in Liam’s neck so he doesn’t see the probably embarrassing look that crosses his face. “I don’t have much to give you in return.”

“Oh, there is not much I want,” Liam says, as he nuzzles his nose against Zayn’s. “Only you.”

“Oi Liam! Quit yer canoodling and have a dram with us!” 

Zayn peers at Ned from under Liam’s arm. He waves his own, saying something in Gaelic. Liam doesn’t move, but breathes hotly over the curve of his ear.

“Could wager your groom’s bed during the next gamble! Come, save your husband’s honor before it is too late!”

Zayn grabs Liam’s arm as he feels tension snap through him right before pulling angrily away from him. Ned tilts his body back as he laughs, the sound echoing down the hallway. 

His own laugh follows as he takes in the glare on Liam’s face.

Liam reaches out to rub a thumb over the small hoops in Zayn’s right ear, eyes blazing with laughter. “Hush, Sassenach. Protecting yer honor is no laughing matter. I take it verra seriously.”

Zayn finds Harry after Ned finally gets his hands on Liam and drags him away. He sits with some of the tenants in the village, who glare at Zayn as he sits amongst them.

There are some who slowly move away and others who do not care about being discreet about their want or need to move away from him. 

“I hate politics,” Harry sighs, apology in his eyes as he watches the last of their company slide away from the table.

“I do not think it is just politics, Harry.”

His face falls for a moment, eyes glaring into the contents of his silver metal mug. “I mean this.” He waves his fingers as if to indicate the men surrounding him. “The stuff about, ye ken. Back at the castle, when Liam and Niall would talk about it I wouldna be able to follow. I dinna think he would be doing this.”

“Ripping Liam’s shirt off to incite rage in the Highlanders?” Zayn offers as he glances at Liam and Niall. Niall has an arm around him, both their faces scrunched with laughter. Liam had said he didn’t care about who sits on the throne, but if he had been talking about it before they even left for rent -

“That as well,” Harry sighs before giving him a grin that takes over his face. “So, how big is it? Ye never told me.”

Zayn sputters as he drinks his port, accidentally snorting it up his nose and coughing it out instead of responding.

*

Zayn feels more welcomed walking through the arched entrance of Castle Leoch than he did the first time around. He first walked through them with a stranger by his side, and now he walks inside with his husband.

It is still a strange thought. He had never wanted to be married, but there is something overwhelming about Liam being his. A fact Liam frequently mentions and Zayn can never hear enough of. 

“May I introduce you to my husband, Lord Payne,” Liam introduces proudly as Bridgette approaches them in seconds, as if she had been waiting for them to arrive. 

Bridgette’s eyes blossom wide in surprise before she grips both of their cheeks. “Why did you no send word ahead so I could prepare ye a proper room?”

“Anything you have prepared will be better than the rocks we have slept on,” Zayn promises. Anything where Liam is beside him is enough. 

Bridgette pats his cheek fondly. “Hopefully ye can keep yer husband out of trouble. It is a tiring task for one woman to do alone. I would be verra thankful for yer assistance in the matter.”

Liam makes an offended noise before releasing Zayn’s arm and placing a kiss to his temple. “Go on Sassenach. I will find you.”

Zayn slides his arm through Bridgette’s as Liam heads in the opposite direction. “I met Alick and Freya.”

Bridgette pats his hand a few times and Zayn is taken aback by the way her bottom lip trembles before she speaks. “I heard. Ye dinna ken what it means to me, laddie. I have sent some seed potatoes their way, though I dinna understand the importance.”

“It is,” is all Zayn responds with.

It is nice being around Bridgette again but it makes him think of his sisters, and his choice not to return to them. He tries his best to send her away politely, insisting he doesn’t need help with his bath. He has not been alone since that day at the stones and he has not minded, but now he enjoys the silence that surrounds him.

Liam returns awhile later, stumbling upon Zayn with only his eyes and nose above the hot water. He has never felt so dirty in his life, having already changed the water since it turned a dark brown after he washed himself. 

“Did ye ken,” Liam starts in wonder as he begins working on undoing the buttons of his shirt, “That the servants have talked about whether I would take a wife or husband?”

Zayn laughs, resulting in water flowing into his mouth that he spits out. “Does that bother you? They gossip about everything.”

“No,” Liam insists, “It just is not something I have wondered about myself. It is strange that others have.”

Zayn quirks a brow, surprised by this. “You have never thought about whether you would prefer being with a man or woman?”

“I never thought I would  _ marry _ ,” Liam corrects as he slips his shirt from his body. He pads over to him before kneeling beside the tub to dip his hand into the water until he finds Zayn’s hand. “Man or woman.”

“But you must have had some knowledge of who you were attracted to,” Zayn murmurs, shivering as Liam’s fingers run over the shriveled skin of his hand. 

“No much. Wasna until you that I found my cock interested in anything.”

Zayn flicks water a handful of water at Liam. His nose wrinkles as drops of water slide down his cheeks. 

“When I vowed myself to ye, I also vowed that no words that pass my lips will be anything but the truth,” Liam says with a grin. “But it is more than my cock that wants ye to be sure, Sassenach. And I havena felt that way about anyone before I met you.”

“You have kissed others before,” Zayn reminds him as his fingertips slip over Liam’s. 

“Aye. I dinna say no one was attracted to  _ me _ .”

Zayn laughs as he slides closer to Liam, causing water to slosh over the sides. He isn’t sure any longer if it the water is warming him or if his flushed body is warming the water. “Join me? Before the water turns cold?”

He sinks back into the water as he watches Liam strip the rest of his clothing. He admires the hard lines of his body, the muscles that flex like rippling waves as he moves. Water spills onto the floor as Liam sinks between his legs, and his thoughts of Bridgette fussing over it disappear as Liam smoothes his hands over his calves, pulling them over his own legs. He touches him gently, with no urgency, despite the hard curve of his prick. 

_ Eager _ , always eager to be with him.

When Zayn had bathed his first night in Castle Leoch, he had been surprised by soap. As dirty as the clansmen had been, he hadn’t thought that they even knew what bathing  _ was _ . He runs the soap over Liam’s shoulders and chest now, settling farther into his lap.

Liam’s eyes fall closed as Zayn washes him, the water filling once more with bubbles. He presses the fingers of one hand into Liam’s shoulders, coaxing out the tension in his muscles. Liam lets out a quiet moan as he does, a soft sound of appeasement that has Zayn wanting to press down harder against his lap but he stops himself. 

“I have always known. And I have loved once before,” Zayn admits to Liam quietly, as he massages the soap down his arms, with Liam’s hands working gently over his thighs like he can’t help  _ but  _ touch. “The feeling did not last long.”

“Did he cause ye harm?” Liam asks, his voice harder than it had been a moment before. There is still the heaviness of arousal in his eyes, but concern makes his eyebrows knit together until a wrinkle appears between them. 

Zayn shakes his head, dragging the soap over Liam’s abdomen. He had what he thought was love for Danny, but he had been his foster brother and it wasn’t allowed. They were put into another home shortly after Danny told his mother they had kissed. It had felt like  _ love _ , but recently Zayn feels as if he never understood the feeling at all. “He did not love me the same.”

Liam’s thumbs rub higher up the inner parts of Zayn’s thighs and he doesn’t try to hold in the tremble that takes over him. He gives into the urge to sink farther into his lap, planting against Liam until he can feel his hardness against his own. “If he did, you wouldna be mine.”

Zayn quiets him with a kiss, letting the soap fall somewhere in the depth of the water. There are a lot of things that brought them together, things he can’t begin to explain. 

“Do not think of him, Sassenach,” Liam whispers, as his wet hands run over the back of his head and down his spine until his fingers grip at the bum he claims to love so much. He pulls Zayn down against him, a silent plea to forget about any man other than him. 

“I wasn’t,” Zayn promises, as he drags the soapy bubbles over the perk of Liam’s nipples. He has noticed how much Liam likes when Zayn touches them. His touch always becomes a bit rougher when Zayn teases them with his mouth or fingers. 

Liam makes love to him slowly, quietly, their moans softer than the sound of the water spilling onto the floor with every one of their movements. He touches Zayn with delicacy, fingers pressing into his hips to drag him down against him but never hard enough to bruise, mouth over his neck but teeth staying clear of pressing into his skin until he comes.

Zayn kisses Liam as he washes the rest of the weeks’ grime from him, sat still on his lap. He thinks he could kiss Liam for the rest of his life and never be sick of it. Liam doesn’t let him go until the water turns cold, until Zayn trembles from it and his teeth start to clatter.

Zayn does not want to stop touching Liam as they remove themselves from the cold water. His fingers linger over Liam’s arms, trace over his spine and tickle at the start of his bum. There is a grin on Liam’s face as he does so, fitting the air of happiness that has settled around them. 

Liam pads away from him, towards the bedroom. He grabs a folded shirt, placed on the bed by Bridgette. “I dinna think I could ever stop touching ye,” Liam admits quietly as unfolds the shirt and holds it out for him.

“You shouldn’t,” Zayn responds, lifting his arms up as Liam hovers the shirt over his head. 

Liam pulls the thin shirt over Zayn’s head before he pulls off his own, but Zayn works his hands under the soft material until he feels Liam’s cold skin start to burn under his demanding touch. 

He is not careful with him this time, fucking up into him with rough strokes that has him collapsing against Liam’s chest. Liam holds him close, strong arms pressing into his back as he whispers Gaelic into his ear and though Zayn doesn’t understand, his chest swells from the hoarse sound of Liam’s voice until he finds his release, coating Liam’s newly cleaned stomach. 

He falls asleep to the sound of Liam’s heavy breathing as he comes down, and his arms tight around his chest, pulling him so his weight is on Liam instead of Liam’s weight on him. 

For once, when he wakes, Liam is still laid beside him, sleeping with his mouth hanging open. Zayn watches him for a moment before throwing his legs over the side of the bed to get dressed.

The clothing is no longer confusing to him, though he takes more comfort in wearing the pants than the kilts. He finds earrings in a box beside the folded clothes Bridgette had left for him and he smiles at the gesture. Most of them are big and gaudy, but Zayn finds a pair of emerald studs he puts into his third holes. 

Liam stirs and huffs out snores but never wakes. Zayn eventually tiptoes through the big doors of their room when his stomach grumbles in hunger.

He yelps as he crashes into a body the moment the door closes behind him.

Sophia glares up at him as she wipes off the front of her dress, as if touching Zayn might ruin her clothing. “I am sorry, Mister Brannan, I dinna mean to startle you. I was looking for Liam - er, Mister Gibbons. Bridgette told me he was here?”

Zayn peers down at her flustered face. There is a flicker inside of him, just the tiniest flame of possessiveness, that he blows out with a feeling of ridiculousness.

“I am afraid my husband is still asleep. I was just going to the kitchen to get us something to eat before he wakes.”

Sophia’s eyes widen in understanding. She glances at the door and then again at Zayn, her face growing almost as red as Liam’s gets. 

“I - I could fetch you something if you would like,” she offers. 

“No, no,” Zayn says, waving her off, “I am perfectly capable, but thank you.”

Sophia doesn’t move away then, and Zayn stares at her for a long moment for an explanation as to why she is here. 

“I can tell Liam you were looking for him?” Zayn finally suggests, when he realizes they aren’t get to get farther than staring awkwardly at each other if he doesn’t speak. 

“Oh! No, no. I should find Bridgette. There is much to do since the men have returned,” Sophia goes on, so quickly that Zayn can only make little sense of what she says. She disappears not a moment later, panic in her face and feet. 

Zayn tries to remember the twist and turns of the hallways, but the room he shares with Liam is in a different section of the castle than his old one. It is mostly empty corridors and he wonders if it is all men from their group behind the closed doors, catching up on sleep.

He tries not to wonder why Sophia was outside of his door so early in the morning, looking for Liam, but the question stays with him as he wanders. 

Zayn tiptoes past a parted door, stilling as angered voices spill out. He recognizes Niall’s immediately, but it takes him a moment to recognize Gregory’s.

“I have given ye one son already, brother. I will no give her my seed again!”

Zayn flattens his body against the stone, turning his head more to eavesdrop.

“Ye ask of me this again yet ye will no grant me my one request! I have given ye everything I have and yet ye deny my request every time I ask it!”

Niall doesn’t sound angry, but there is a hint of desperation in his voice as he speaks to his brother.

“It isna my doing that ye have given yer heart to a man who can offer ye nothing in marriage, Nialler,” Gregory says after a long moment, his voice by far calmer. The calmness makes him sound scarier than if he were to yell. “Ye have a responsibility to Castle Leoch!”

“And it isna no more my doing that ye canna give yer wife a child!” 

Zayn’s eyes widen. He slowly feels himself freeze as realization dawns over him. 

“Ye ken I have great shame that I canna give my wife children, brother, dinna use it against me! I have given ye land, a title, rule over my men! I have turned my eyes away from yer sneaking about with a servant and ye returning home with less rent then yer supposed to! I have been lenient, brother, but I am still yer Laird!”

There is a spitting sound before the brothers fall quiet, and Zayn takes that as his cue to leave before he comes face to face with an angered Horan.

Liam is still asleep when Zayn returns with food in hand, but his eyes peer up at him groggily as Zayn sits next to him. He steals a piece of fruit from his plate, his eyes falling back closed as he plops it into his mouth.

“Where did you go last night, Liam?”

One eye flickers open, confusion clear. “In my dreams? I am always with you, Sassenach.”

Zayn snorts, pushing another piece of fruit against Liam’s lips. “When we first arrived, I mean. When Bridgette brought me here to wash.”

He lingers his fingers against Liam’s lips as he takes it into his mouth. “To the servants’ corridors.”

Zayn’s stomach drops and he shoves the next piece of fruit into Liam’s mouth a little roughly. Liam’s face crumples as he sits and curves his bare body around him.

Liam’s kiss tastes sweet and Zayn licks the lingering juice from his lips. “Why did you go there?”

Liam chases Zayn’s lips but when Zayn ducks away, he sighs in disappointment before rolling around to reach for something at the side of the bed. Zayn slides a hand over his bum, feeling the smooth skin as he eyes the scratch marks on his shoulders.

A sick feeling twists in his belly suddenly. He hates that he had marked Liam’s skin that way, even if it will fade. 

When Liam curls around him again, he holds his fist between their bodies.

Zayn sets the plate on his lap as he takes the wooden object into his own hand and turns it over. It is carved as a dog standing with a tail curling over its rear. Parts of the wood are stained with black ink, shaping out spots.

“I made it on the road but I dinna have the ink for the coloring,” Liam explains, his thumb rubbing over the spots as Zayn holds it. “I needed Bridgette’s other nephew to help me with the spots, like the beast I had when I was a bairn.”

Zayn stares at Liam for a long moment in wonder, until his thoughts are broken by Liam finally looking back at him.

Who is this man, Zayn wonders, and why does he insist on making him feel as if his heart might swell right out of his chest? 

“When did you have time to make this without me noticing?”

“When ye were with Harry or tendin’ to the men.”

Zayn clasps it to his heart as he kisses Liam. “Thank you.”

“Aye, I ken it doesna mean the same,” Liam says, grabbing another piece of fruit and plopping into his mouth, “Now why did ye look as if ye wanted to fight me, Sassenach?”

Zayn huffs out a laugh as he shakes his head. “Isn’t important.”

Liam leans against the headboard, his fingers falling to trail over Zayn’s back. “You vowed the truth just the same as me, Zayn.”

If he did, Zayn doesn’t really remember. The wedding is too much of a blur to him. But it doesn’t matter either way, it is the truth. The way he felt seeing Sophia this morning isn’t important, but silly and foolish. He had ignored how silly he felt until now.

“Sophia was here this morning, looking for you.”

Liam hums out a noise of understanding but doesn’t say anything else so Zayn doesn’t either. Not until he feels Liam curl around his back again, his lips suddenly soft and wet against his ear.

“I dinna like these verra much,” Liam grumbles as indicates the earrings with his finger, “I canna kiss you here properly.”

Despite his words, Liam does, pulling the lobe into his mouth with his tongue tickling over his skin. Hot arousal washes through him and Zayn wants nothing more than to sink back against Liam’s bare body and stay there.

“I only want you, remember?” Liam whispers. “I dinna mind repeating it to ye, but tell me when ye need to hear it, Sassenach.”

Zayn sighs, removing himself from the bed, though it is a struggle. He might never come out of it if Liam keeps kissing him like that. “Does that mean she wants you?”

“I dinna ken nor care.”

Zayn stands in front of the mirror, fixing the collar of his shirt. There are dribbles of fruit juice on his shoulder and he hopes Bridgette doesn’t scold him for it. His neck is darkened with a blush that disappears underneath the material.

“Do you care that I cannot give you a child?”

Zayn doesn’t turn to see Liam’s expression or to see why he doesn’t respond. His fingers fumble over his buttons as he tries to redo them. He feels ridiculous, he doesn’t know why these thoughts are in his head. The anger in Gregory’s voice had grown after Niall reminded him he could not have children.

“No.”

It is a simple word, but it is spoken so seriously that Zayn finally turns to look at his husband, still resting against the headboard of the bed.

“There are plenty of bairns born every year in the village whose mother’s die in childbirth and their fathers canna care for them. If ye want a child, Zayn, we can have one without the fear of losin’ one of us, ye ken? ‘Tis better that way.”

Frustration fills Zayn. He isn’t even angry, but Liam always knows what the right thing to say is and it makes Zayn want to punch him. He has never wanted children, never wanted to leave a child in the world like he had been left, even if it wasn’t anyone’s fault. But Liam makes him want to have one. This world he has fallen into is starting to make him question things he had thought he knew about himself. 

Liam makes him want to do a lot of things he has never wanted to do before, and it frustrates him. 

“When yer ready, we can go to the village and take one.”

“We cannot just take a baby, Liam.”

Liam laughs as he finally stands and pads over to him. “Ye ken my meaning, Zayn. We can have as many as ye like. I would rather my children grow up in Lallybroch but if ye want one now -“

“I don’t.”

The man in front of him lets out a noise out of frustration before his hands close around the side of Zayn’s face. 

“Why did ye ask then, love? I am afraid I dinna understand.”

Zayn doesn’t know the answer to that one. He hadn’t thought about it before until he overheard Gregory and Niall this morning, and remembered how Harry mentioned not being able to give Niall a heir. He hates the sudden intrusion of emotion and he blames it on the lack of sleep and the emotional tug-and-pull between his sisters and Liam. 

“One of the reasons Gregory will not grant Niall permission to marry Harry is because he cannot give Niall a true blood heir, but Gregory does not have one either, does he?”

Liam pulls back to peer at Zayn, his hands falling to his sides. “Ye are a witch, are you not?”

“No,” Zayn says, as a laugh bubbles from his lips. The mask of concern on his husbands face is genuine and his amusement dies quickly. “I overheard Niall and Gregory talking this morning when I went down to the kitchens. It gives him great shame that he cannot give his wife a child.”

“Dinna say anything, if ye would. Only Harry and I ken the truth about little Theo,” Liam gently warns, as he curls his arms around Zayn. This is the longest he has gone around Liam’s naked body without touching him and his fingers tingle with the urge to. “He cares more about having a heir than giving Lady Horan a child. And it brings me no shame. If a child loses his parents it doesna mean he doesna deserve to have any. If ye never want a bairn, having ye is enough for me. If ye want one, ye will have one.”

Zayn nods as he slides his fingers into Liam’s soft curls. “Thank you for the dog, Liam.”

Both of his eyes wink shut, the crinkles at the corners deep. “Thank ye kindly for the food. Do ye have more questions, Sassenach? Because I am still a bit hungry,” he says before attempting to quiet Zayn’s laugh with his lips.

“That is it, I swear,” Zayn mutters in embarrassment, “I brought plenty of food. I do not think fruit is enough for you, Liam.”

A growl rumbles in Liam’s throat as he lifts Zayn, who only pretends to struggle before tightening his limbs around Liam’s body. “I have an appetite for something else, Sassenach.”

*

Zayn feels much more comfortable roaming the castle without his shadows, though he still does not stray too far. He picks up another shadow visiting Liam at the stables, one with four legs, a shaggy fur coat and a nose that is so cold he can feel it through his clothes when the pup runs into the back of his legs. 

“What about this one?” Zayn asks, with his knees digging into the dirt. Since arriving back at the castle a week before, he has had more people in the infirmary needing attention than he had all together before he left. It makes it hard to find the time to get the supplies he constantly runs out of. Bridgette had stocked some shelves, he had noticed, as he did inventory. The angelica, dried ascaria, barberry and black hellbore were nearly empty, but Bridgette had delivered some more this morning with an apology, along with some aloe leaves, and a bit of an embarrassed explanation of the barberry and black hellbore being used for miscarriages. 

The dog sniffs the leaf in his hand before letting out a low whine. He bends towards the ground a moment later, throwing a paw over his nose.

“Huh, it only looks like wood garlic to me,” Zayn tells him, as he eyes over the familiar shaped leaf before throwing it back to the ground. He had discovered his new friend’s talent the day before, when Zayn reached into a layer of ascaria mushrooms and the dog nearly bit his hand off trying to prevent him from touching them. Zayn had explained the topical use of the tops when dried, but he isn’t sure the dog quite understood as he didn’t calm until Zayn was safely away from the mushrooms. 

“I trust your judgement, Scooby,” Zayn whispers with a laugh. “Or would you be Shaggy because of your fur? Either way, we will make good partners.”

The shaggy dog rolls on his belly, tongue wagging out the corner of his mouth with pleading eyes until Zayn gives in and scratches over his belly in reward for his help. 

He had never owned a dog before, though he lived with a foster family for a year in Wolverhampton who had neighbors that owned two. He used to sneak into their yards to pet the dogs and give them treats, but he had been bad at sneaking even then, and the neighbors had complained. 

The sound of footsteps causes the shaggy dog to roll over onto his belly, letting out a low growl with his teeth bared viciously. Zayn’s heart beat picks up the pace as he hovers lower into the tall grass. It isn’t tall enough to hide him, he realizes a moment later, especially not with the massive coat Bridgette had given him now that the air has grown cold. 

“What are ye doin’ down there lad?”

Zayn relaxes as he eyes over Paddy’s not so friendly face. Behind him lingers Paul, his own eyebrow quirked in wonder as he looks at Zayn. 

“Petting my dog.”

“ _ Yer _ dog?” Paddy asks with a rare flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Liam always said Duff was a wee bit smarter than the rest.”

Zayn drags his fingers through the dog’s dark fur.  _ Duff _ , not Scooby or Shaggy. “I don’t understanding your meaning?”

“That beast there was the only of its litter that survived. Liam tended to the mother before she too passed on. He doesna approach anyone but the young lord.”

_ And me _ , Zayn thinks, smugly, as he pats the side of the dog’s face fondly. He isn’t surprised by it, Liam fathering a puppy. He isn’t surprised by things like that anymore. It is how Liam is. 

And it makes his heart do this thing that means something, something his mind refuses to acknowledge just yet.

“Liam sent us lookin’ for ye,” Paddy goes on, after a moment of watching Zayn pet the dog with a look of impatience on his face. “Which ye made difficult hidin’ in the grass.”

“Is he okay?” Zayn blurts, standing up suddenly. He tuts his teeth when Duff gets too close to the basket of herbs sat beside his feet, already drooling as if he can smell the piece of bannock he has wrapped up at the bottom in case he loses time and accidentally misses the midday meal. 

“Aye. He is accompanying the chief into town. He wants us to teach ye a thing or two ‘bout defendin’ yerself. Show ye how to throw a blade and stab a man where he will no forget it!”

Zayn frowns at this. Liam has made comments before about not wanting to leave him alone in the castle, but that had been before their marriage. He even said that Niall forbade anyone to put him into harm’s way. He was a guest of Clan Horan, and Zayn assumed that fact still remained true. 

But still an outlander, a fact he would not soon forget.

“I do not need to.”

A noise so loud it sounds painful comes out of Paddy and Paul’s noses. “Every lad should ken how to defend themselves,” Paul explains with disbelief, “and with bony arms like yers and those glittery jewels in yer ears, yer bound to get a reason to have a dirk in yer pocket. Best know how to use it before ye need to.”

Zayn touches his earrings hesitantly. They are sterling silver, nothing fancy. But he doesn’t know much about what is fancy in the eighteenth century. White shirts that haven’t been soaked in ages of dirt seem to be, but he can’t imagine anyone robbing the literal shirt off his back just because he washes it a bit more than the other men do.

“I don’t have bony arms,” Zayn says indignantly. He curls his hands around them protectively, ignoring the fact that he actually  _ does _ have bony arms.

“Och, no offense meant, lad. But if ye can understand, Liam dinna give me much of a choice in the matter. It was either I teach ye how to fight or I follow ye around and he said ye no would like that much.”

Zayn crosses his arms over his chest. He hates both options really, but only one has any benefit to it. “Well, no, I would not like that.”

“Okay then,” Paddy says as he reaches out with a dirk in hand, the handle pointed towards Zayn. “If ye are done being stubborn.”

“Right here?” Zayn asks nervously. There is no one in the courtyard around them, but he is sure there will be people looking down at them from the windows surrounding the courtyard like he has done many times before, and he isn’t quite fond of the idea of embarrassing himself in front of everyone.

Paddy and Paul both nod. “Only if ye give me yer word  _ yer  _ dog will no attack me.”

Zayn takes the knife with an unsteady hand. It feels wrong, like it belongs anywhere other than his hand “I can’t say I know the workings of a dog’s mind,” he says, before he turns to glare at the dog warningly where he lays hidden in the grass.

“Hold ye dirk like this,” Paddy says, gripping the handle of his weapon a thousand times until he is satisfied with Zayn’s mimicked grip. “And dinna cut me. If I cut ye back in retaliation, the young lord will no be verra happy with me.”

When Paddy and Paul finally call it an end, Zayn’s shoulders ache from the force of the mock stabs they made him practice. After scratching a hole in Paul’s shirt, they had switched to a stick and his palm is reddened and sore from his tight grip around the rough wood. 

After having seen so much violence in the war, he hates it. Thinking about it makes him nervous and even though he understands, to some extent, the reasoning behind Liam wanting him to learn, he says a silent prayer he never needs to use a dirk on  _ anyone _ .

Zayn drops his things into the infirmary, promising himself to sort through it and put the herbs into their proper containers tomorrow, before washing up for dinner. 

He finds Harry in the dining hall, sitting amongst the servants. Zayn sits across from him. He wonders if Harry cares that Niall sits beside his brother every night and not next to him, but he doesn’t feel it his place to ask. 

“Ye dinna have to sit with me every night,” Harry tells him quietly, barely looking up at him. “Would be more appropriate for ye to sit with yer husband.”

Zayn pretends to look around in confusion. “I  _ dinna _ see Liam around.”

Harry wrinkles his nose before flicking a piece of food at him. “Ye ken my meaning, Payne.”

The name makes Zayn’s heart flutter in his chest. There are few servants who refer to him as Lord Payne when they are alone with him. Most refer to him as Mister Gibbons, if they speak to him at all. “I spend enough time with him,” he says. It isn’t the truth, not really. He could spend every moment of the day with his husband and still crave more. 

His Aunty always told him never to fall too fast for someone. He feels guilty that he failed so badly at following her advice. But that guilt is deep down, buried underneath the overwhelming feelings he has for Liam.

Harry snorts in amusement. “I ken the feeling well. I see it in yer eyes.”

“See what?” Zayn asks. Behind Harry, he watches the dining doors to the dining hall open. He is distracted by it, as if his heart can tell who is a moment from walking through them.

Liam always walks with his chin tilted high and back straight, making him appear even bigger. He is an optical illusion, Zayn thinks, because they are not too different in size but Liam always feels twice his size when Zayn is pressed against him. He hasn’t attempted to shave since they arrived back at Castle Leoch, and Zayn hopes it is because he has realized how much Zayn likes touching the coarse hair.

He glances his way, both eyes falling shut - in what Zayn suspects is his attempt at winking - before he continues on, past their table and towards the men he rides beside. They haven’t spoken of Zayn’s need to sit with Harry, Zayn hasn’t really thought much about it himself, but Liam never questions him as to why he does. 

“That,” Harry says, interrupting his thoughts with a utensil pointed at him. “That look in yer eyes now. Liam is here, aye?”

A heat takes over Zayn’s face as he shoves food into his mouth to prevent himself from responding. It only makes Harry laugh harder, the sound echoing off the walls of the dining hall over the quiet rumble of conversation. 

“Dinna be ashamed. I am the reason everyone here realized the truth of me and Niall,” Harry says, as he moves his food around on his plate distractedly. He grins up at Zayn here and there and Zayn understands now the look Harry is talking about. “Niall is good at closin’ his face, ye ken. No me so much.”

Zayn wants to ask Harry about what he overheard between Gregory and Niall, but he doesn’t want to give Harry any reason to rid the smile from his face. He doesn’t understand the dynamics, and he doesn’t want to pressure Harry to explain it. Harry gives up information when he wants to, with a trust in his eyes that Zayn is not willing to ruin.

There is a lot about this time that seems absurd or strange to him, but he is most annoyed by the politics of marriage, especially because he seems how much it hurts Harry. 

“Join me in the kitchens tomorrow? There is a celebration for the young Laird’s day of birth. Castle Leoch is opening to the villagers and Bridgette doesna have enough hands to make that much food.”

Bridgette sits a few people away, a young boy snuggled into her side. He watches the way she tends to him, helping him with his food and scolding him here and there. 

He craves to know his mother; he had come to Scotland for that reason, and here Bridgette is, with her eyes and the kindness and nurturing personality he remembers his mother having.

“Yeah, alright mate.”

Harry hands a piece of bread to Zayn. “Does everyone where you are from speak like ye? Yer accent, I mean. It is different. I have never met a person from Bradford. Do they all say funny words like you?”

Zayn ignores that for a moment as he dips his bread into the brown sauce covering his meat. His accent has always been a little thicker than everyone else’s, and his words aren’t funny in 1996, but he cannot quite tell Harry that. 

His eyes find Liam again, his head tilted as he speaks to a young boy seated between him and Paddy. He can’t tell anyone that, not even his husband, who swore a vow to tell him only the truth. He wants to return the vow, but Liam has joked enough about him being a witch that he has become afraid of Liam actually thinking it if he were to. 

“Aye,” Zayn murmurs, sending a grin Harry’s way before he mimics the  _ mmhmmmph _ sound the Highlanders do quite often. 

Harry gives him a considerate look, eyes searching over him until he finally nods as if realizing something. “Yer right lad. Ye do spend too much time with Liam.”

When dinner is over, Zayn helps Bridgette and the rest clean the dining tables until an arm curls around his shoulders and pulls him chest to chest with Liam. His face is blindingly bright with the lopsided grin that takes over his face, his eyes nearly closed with the force of it.

“I heard ye made a new friend,” Liam utters, where he presses his lips to Zayn’s temple. His fingers grip Zayn’s chin softly, the pad of his thumb grazing over the stubble of hair there.

He feels the glare before he sees it behind Liam’s back, but Sophia turns her eyes and hurries off with a stack of plates in hand the moment Zayn looks at her. 

“The dog or the dirk?” Zayn teases. He rolls his tongue over his bottom lip, savoring the taste of Liam for a moment longer. 

Liam gives him the expression of a groan but his lips press together without a noise. 

“Go on, get! If ye no gunna help, move out of my way!” Bridgette fusses, wiggling her wrinkled hands at them to shoo them out of the dining hall.

Zayn giggles, tucking his face into Liam’s neck. He smells of whiskey and hay, a smell Zayn never thought he would like. But he finds himself searching for it in the night when he is waiting for Liam to return from the stables or Niall’s office quarters, and in the morning, before he reaches over to feel for the hard body beside him.

“A bit rude there, Liam. I was helping.”

Liam groans quietly as he tightens his arm around Zayn’s shoulders. The tip of his nose tickles over the side of his face. “Aye, I apologize, but I want ye bad, Sassenach.”

With just a few words, Zayn feels as if every nerve in his body has sparked. They only fizzle more as Liam leads them back to their room and plants them on their bed. His fingers slide between Zayn’s, grasping each hand before stretching them over his head and beneath the surprisingly plush pillows. 

“Trying to avoid a conversation about having Paddy and Paul teach me how to fight?” Zayn says, voice hoarse with building pleasure as Liam licks and nips over the slope of his neck. He has learned to leave the mouth shaped bruises lower, and Zayn has a spatter of fading bruises against his collarbone and traveling down his navel. 

“No fight, but to defend yerself if need be. Is there a conversation to be had?” Liam asks huskily before his lips wrap around the soft flesh of his ear. Despite what he had said about hating the earrings, Liam’s lips find that part of him quite frequently. 

Zayn slides his fingers through Liam’s curls, stifling the moan in his throat, refusing to acknowledge that Liam has discovered how easily he is distracted sometimes. 

“Yes,” Zayn breathes. His body betrays him, his fingers gripping tighter onto Liam’s and his hips anchoring to meet the hard press of his husband’s.

“Now?” Liam asks, his elbows digging into the bed so he can hover over Zayn. He curves his hips, rocking down hard against Zayn with an amused look on his face that makes him want to push his knee up between his legs with vengeance to rid that smirk from his lips.

The amusement slips from Liam’s face as something else takes over - a look that makes Zayn’s heart feel too big for his chest.

“I canna be with ye at all times and I ken ye wouldna like another shadow followin’ ye about. But if somethin’ were to happen to ye, Zayn, well I already feel as if my heart is breaking just thinking about it. I wouldna like to discuss it further.”

Zayn pushes forward until their lips touch, cutting off Liam’s words. He tries to erase the broken look that had just taken hold of Liam’s eyes from his mind with his kiss, sucking gently on Liam’s bottom lip the way the other man always does.

There is a worry in the back of his mind that Liam has a reason for thinking he might be harmed. He has proven himself not a spy, became loyal to the Scottish by Niall’s apparent standards through marrying Liam, and Liam trusted two men who have been openly suspicious of Zayn to pretend to stab him without worrying that  _ they _ might actually stab him. Niall has threatened him but Liam seemed sure that the man would never actually hurt him. 

But it is the time, Zayn realizes. He has heard enough stories spoken so casually of thieves and sudden suspicious deaths over his time here that life and experience might be Liam’s only reason.

Even Liam has gone through things that are horrific for so little of a reason. 

“I will learn, but on one condition,” Zayn starts against Liam’s lips, “You teach me. Not one of your men.”

Liam grumbles a noise of approval as Zayn slides his arms wide to drag Liam further against him. Liam follows suit, careening his head forward to capture his lips once more.

It is sudden, the way Liam hisses out a Gaelic word before tearing away from Zayn. Zayn’s body moves with him out of instinct, a worrying tug at his heart making him grab for Liam.

Liam holds his hand up, revealing a pebble of blood spouting from his skin before he is ripping the pillows from the bed, carefully jostling Zayn aside.

Zayn reaches for the object revealed at the top of the bed before Liam pushes his hand away with a warning. It looks like a bundle of flowers, but closer up he can see the thorns holding together the bundle of leaves and plants.

Leaves and plants that Zayn is quite sure are poisonous, based on Duff’s evaluations.

“An ill wish,” Liam sighs in annoyance as he picks up the bundle cautiously from the stem. Zayn spots the same leaves Duff had smelled earlier, leaves he had thought to be wood garlic.

“Lily of the valley,” Zayn says suddenly, remembering the pretty flowers that a foster parent of his used to pot on the window sill. She had instructed him not to eat them once, though Zayn had no intention to to begin with. 

“Aye,” Liam grunts as he pads to the open window to toss the bouquet out. 

“What is an ill wish?” Zayn blurts though he has an idea. “And who -“

Liam sits beside him as he reaches out for him. His rough palm slides over his cheek as his thumb rests against his lips to quiet him.

“Dinna worry, Sassenach. There is only one place where ye can purchase something like that. A place where ye can buy things that are much more dangerous than that, as well.”

Zayn pouts his lips to push Liam’s thumb away. “I apologize but I am afraid I do not understand how that is supposed to make me not worry, Liam.”

A smile flickers over his lips but his eyes blaze with lingering anger.

“If someone wanted to cause ye harm they wouldna been puttin’ ill wishes under our pillows.  _ And _ because we will go tomorrow and inquire about who recently bought such a thing.”

Liam curls his arms around Zayn’s back to pull him against his chest. “Dinna worry, Sassenach. I told ye I would keep ye safe. A measly plant is no match for me.”

Zayn isn’t worried about that, but the small sense of comfort and welcome he had felt in the castle since returning was suddenly gone, and he knows he should have never thought otherwise.

Liam takes Zayn’s hand to rub a thumb against his palm. He frowns, glancing at the redness there. “No more sticks.”

Zayn blurts out a laugh, tucking his face against the crook of Liam’s shoulder. His shoulders bracket with the force of it, his belly aching as he continues to laugh until the uneasiness inside of him fades. 

*

Liam watches as Zayn sleeps, his fingers tracing over his bare spine underneath the thick blankets. His face is softer like this, his thick eyelashes tickling the sharp of his cheekbones and his lips pouted.

At this time last year, he had been sleeping under the trees with an aching belly and limbs shivering from the cold. He would hide in barns in hopes that he would sleep better on hay and a bit more shielded from the chill, but he never did. Every time he closed his eyes he would see Captain Malik’s face the last he saw of him, promising to be just as brutal with the second lashing.

He has not slept well since. Not until recently.

Liam slides the blankets further up Zayn’s back before he climbs out of the bed and dresses himself. He had arranged for Paddy to stand outside of their bedroom door earlier, and he is thankful since he found the ill wish.

It is not an intention of harm, that part is true, but the look that had crossed Zayn’s face when Liam had tried to explain it makes a protective anger roll through him.

“A fool in love,” Paddy greets, as Liam shuts their bedroom door quietly behind him. “Zayn is quite thin as is, Li. Ye gonna work him until he is just bone.”

Liam snorts as he pats his godfather on the chest. Zayn appears thin under his clothing but his limbs are surprisingly strong, the muscles in them flexing and bulging as they move together. The ridges of muscles on his stomach hard to the touch. They always dance as his body tenses and relaxes over and over again before he comes.

Liam does not say any of this but his face burns hot. “We were praying.”

Paddy huffs out a laugh. “I should start going to church then.”

“Ye will give the villagers a scare thinking the devil himself has walked through the doors,” Liam jokes before his laughter dies out. “There was an ill wish beneath the pillow. I am taking Zayn to the village tomorrow to Tommo’s shop. Ye will accompany me, aye?”

Paddy’s face crumples in disapproval. “Are ye sure that is a good idea laddie? They say he is from the stones. The same stones yer lad is from.”

Liam stills as he stares at Paddy. If they were not as close as they are, Liam would have shoved him against the stone wall to demand an explanation. “Zayn is from Bradford. What is it yer saying?”

Paddy sighs, his lips lifting some in a smile. “No me. But ye ken Ned’s whispering about Zayn being a fairy when we found him. It wasna the only time I heard it, lad. And no disrespect to ye, but they say the fairies are so beautiful they mesmerize ye and - ”

“And what?” Liam asks impatiently. Paddy has always been like a second father to him, but a subject to Lallybroch. He does not like using his lord voice with him usually, but his impatience is growing.

“Well yer lad is quite beautiful, I dinna mean disrespect saying that ye ken, and I havena ever seen ye lose yer head over someone before like ye do with him. I dinna believe in fairies but the others do.”

Liam snorts out a laugh, no longer wanting to participate in this conversation. “He is no fairy and bringing him to Tommo’s isna going to make him one. Ye tell the men if I hear of them saying it again I will make it so they can no longer speak.”

“Aye, Liam,” Paddy says, nodding his head at him, “just one more bit of warning.”

A rush of annoyance passes his lips. He knows Paddy should understand. It is dangerous to even suspect someone of being a fairy or a witch. It is a thought that should never be said out loud. “I seem like I am losin’ my head because I am. No because of magic but because of my heart.”

Paddy claps him on the shoulder. “I was going to say be careful sneaking about with Niall. Gregory and him are in a fight and I ken there are men watching the laird’s brother. Ye dinna want to be caught trying to lead a rebellion against the throne.”

Liam relaxes some. He is supposed to meet with Niall now to talk about the cause he is trying to build, but not because Liam supports it.“Keep an eye on my husband if ye will. If he wakes tell him I will return shortly. Dinna say a word to him about the men’s fairy gossip.”

Paddy nods. “Ye have my word, Liam.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, the next few chapters are going to have violence and some minor character death in them. I do not want to spoil anything so if you have questions before you read, do not hesitate to send them my way!

Zayn had not slept well the night before. He had tossed and turned in the night with dreams of thorns snaking up his arms and crossing over his back until the shape of them imprinted into his skin. He had thought he dreamt of Liam disappearing in the middle of the night, but he woke a few hours before dawn to Liam falling in bed next to him, his skin cold as if he had been out. 

He didn’t mention it. He still feels ridiculous for his worries about Liam and Sophia, but he can’t help thinking about it anyway, glancing at her while he prepares a basket for their trip to the village.

“Ye best come back with everything on that list, ye understand lad?” Bridgette says firmly, as she holds a rolled up piece of parchment to Harry’s chest. “Dinna talk to the whole village. Be back by nightfall, even if the young lords are not with ye.”

“Aye, ma’am,” Harry agrees with a cheerful smile on his lips. Zayn doesn’t understand how he can look so happy so early. Zayn had fought to get out of bed, but Liam had kissed him until he finally gave in.

Zayn feels his cheeks grow hot as he remembers it. Liam, the bastard, had tricked him onto his lap, lifted him, and then plopped him on his feet before untangling himself from Zayn with a promise of  _ more, _ later.

“I will only talk to  _ half _ of the village,” Harry promises.

Bridgette swats him playfully on the chest. “Dinna do that, it will take ye days and ye dinna want to miss the music. I ken how much ye love it.”

“I canna attend,” Harry tells her. The smile remains on his face but it is no longer cheerful. “But I will no let Lord Payne miss it. It is his first celebration at the castle.”

“They say the Laird is attempting to put an end to his brother’s affair with him,” Sophia whispers to Zayn as she settles next to him. She offers him a handful of nuts for his basket.

“I do not prefer to gossip,” Zayn reminds her as he takes the nuts and dumps them into a bowl beside his basket. “Unless you have heard rumors about who placed an ill wish under my pillow.”

Sophia’s eyes grow wide. “I havena heard any gossip about that. But there are many who are none too happy with your marriage to the young lord.”

Zayn lifts his shoulders in a careless shrug. “I am. As is Liam. I’m not worried about how happy anyone else is about it. Come on, Harry, Liam should have the horses by now.”

Harry tries to take the basket from him but Zayn swats his hand away before walking off without another word to Sophia. He had lied - he does care a lot about what other people think, since it seems it would not be safe to ignore the displeasure.

“Ye canna listen to her,” Harry mumbles as they walk out of the kitchen. “She has fancied the young lord since she was a bairn. Used to follow him around whenever he visited the castle.”

Paddy waits for them in the corridor. Zayn tries not to think too much about why he now has an escort, because it makes his stomach feel like it has shriveled. 

“Do you think it was she who put the ill wish in my bed?” Zayn asks.

“I dinna ken,” Harry says before letting out a quiet laugh. “It wouldna be the best way to win Liam’s heart, that I do ken. But Sophia has never been the brightest.”

The three of them stop as the Laird rounds the corner and stands before them. His eyes pass over Paddy and Zayn without emotion and then land on Harry.

“Harry, a word before ye go on yer way?”

Zayn wants to hold Harry back, but he grips the basket firmly to prevent himself from doing so. There is nothing but malice in the Laird’s eyes, despite the polite smile on his lips.

“Mister Brannan, I believe my brother is in search of you. I found him lurking by yer bedchamber. Dinna keep him too long, I need his assistance with guard placement before the villagers come for the celebration.”

Zayn tips his head in a bow. “Yes, my Laird. And it is Lord Payne now, if you have not heard.”

Gregory’s jaw tenses as he bows his head in return. “I apologize, Lord Payne. I hope my cousin is treating you well.”

“Very,” Zayn responds, before Paddy’s fingers are touching his back to urge him forward. He tries not to trip over his own feet as he quickly distances himself from Gregory, with a worried glance over his shoulder. Harry only nods in assurance.

Zayn heads for his bedroom despite Paddy’s urgings to meet with Liam at the stables instead. Liam has clearly asked Paddy to stay with him, so Zayn doesn’t try to convince him to follow, he just walks with the knowledge that Paddy will.

He does find Niall waiting in the corridor outside of his room, and it isn’t until he sees him that he realizes he wasn’t sure Gregory had been telling the truth. Niall looks friendly enough, a soft smile on his lips, but Zayn still approaches him with hesitancy.

“Zayn,” Niall greets, “I was hoping I could ask a favor of ye.”

Zayn doesn’t respond but straightens his back and waits for Niall to continue. He desperately wants to like the man, to see something that Harry must like other than his sometimes cheerful smile, but the twist in Zayn’s gut every time he sees Niall makes it difficult.

“The Duke of Sandringham is arriving tonight. Have ye heard of him?” Niall waits for a response, so Zayn lies with a nod. “We have some business to discuss, but afterwards, I would like to petition for his help in clearing Liam’s name.”

“And how would you do that?” Zayn asks. “Is it the Duke that put the price on his head?”

“Och, no,” Niall answers with a laugh, “It was Captain Malik. The Duke and the captain are also business partners, though the Duke will never admit it to me.”

_ Business partners _ . Zayn wonders if this has anything to do with Niall’s support of Prince Charlie. But it doesn’t seem possible that the captain would support it as well and risk being named a traitor to the throne. 

“What did Liam say about this? He hasn’t mentioned it to me.”

“I havena told him yet. My plan is for the Captain to be accused of crimes against his own people, but it would mean Liam coming forward about his time at Wentworth Prison, and fabricating a wee bit o’ a lie about yer time in his hands.”

“So why are you telling me and not him then? You must know I will not keep it from him,” Zayn pushes. He doesn’t want to allow himself to feel any hope of Liam being a free man. He doesn’t want that disappointment, and if Niall won’t tell Liam something, it has to be for a good reason.

Niall lets out another laugh, his cheeks reddening. “I dinna expect you to. The Duke has a bit of a flatulence issue. I thought ye could make something to give him relief. To soften him up a bit. His gratitude for your assistance might influence him to help us.”

Zayn wrinkles his nose. “I think I can come up with something. I am off to the village with Liam. I will stop at the apothecary.”

Niall reaches for him as he turns to leave, but the tips of his fingers only manage to brush Zayn’s arm instead of gripping onto it. Hesitation takes over his face and rings clear in his voice. “Watch Harry for me, if you will. I dinna like when he is away from the castle without me.”

“You have my word,” Zayn promises.

Liam has an impatient look on his face when they finally find him at the stables. Harry stands beside him, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip.

“What kept ye so long?” Liam demands. “I had the mind to search for ye before Harry told me ye went to speak with Niall.”

Liam’s trust in his cousin does little to assure Zayn that the man will never cause him harm.

“I thought my new shadow would ease your mind?” Zayn says, indicating Paddy with a wave of his hand. 

Liam groans in complaint before cupping Zayn’s cheeks softly. “I am only at ease when I am with you,  _ mo ghràidh _ .”

Lima places a kiss to his forehead before pulling away and fetching his horse. Harry nudges him in his side with an elbow.

“ _ Mo ghràidh _ ,” he repeats with an amused grin. 

“I don’t know what it means,” Zayn explains, making Harry laugh.

“It means he loves you.”

Zayn watches Liam as he guides his horse to him. The sun is rising over the horizon, but Zayn thinks it is already here, walking towards him.

“What did Niall want from ye?” Liam asks as he approaches him again. 

“Tell you later,  _ mo ghràidh,”  _ Zayn says fondly, before climbing onto his horse.

This village rests right outside of the castle walls. They had not stopped here during the rent route, had only rode through it. Zayn notes the difference of this one from the others. The people walk without dragging their feet or hanging their heads, the buildings are closer together and built better. 

Children play along the road, stopping to wave at them as they ride by. Their faces are chubbier than the other children. Better fed, less worked.

They stop in front of a small shop with a blank white sign above the door. Liam’s eyes wink closed as he gives Zayn a reassuring smile, but he doesn’t miss the tension in his jaw.

A bell chimes as the door opens to a room smelling strongly of herbs and perfume. It is dark inside, but enough light comes in from the small windows that Zayn can see a counter in front of a wall of shelves stuffed with unlabeled bottles and jars.

“One moment!” someone squeaks before a head pops out from under the counter.

A man with a short stature and brown hair pulled back at the nape of his neck appears. His crystal blue eyes are wide and hesitant as they rake over the men of Clan Horan, but Zayn wonders if that is a ploy to fake innocence.

“How may I assist you men?”

Zayn feels the urge to hide behind Liam’s back, then, as the man’s blue eyes look over at him with curiosity. He doesn’t, but Liam steps in front of him as if he were the witch who could read minds.

He had given him a dirk this morning to put into his belt, and it burns into Zayn’s side. He is just as afraid of accidentally stabbing himself in the leg as he is of having to use it on someone else. 

“I have a letter from Laird Horan requesting any information regarding ill wishes bought from this residence within the last few weeks. A look at yer ledgers, at all goods and services purchased during this time.”

The man grabs for the letter Liam presents to him. Liam hadn’t mentioned the letter before, and Zayn doubts it is from the Laird himself. He has seen little of Gregory since he returned, and there has been no kindness in his eyes when he has looked at Zayn, only the same suspicion as always. He doesn’t think the Laird would put too much care in finding someone who didn’t even hurt him, especially not while planning for his son’s birthday celebrations.

“Containing thorns and lily of the valley, if that helps,” Liam goes on, with a polite voice.

The man glances at the letter and back at Zayn, only intensifying that urge to hide behind Liam.

“Well I dinna ken about lily of the valley, I dinna sell it in my shop. It grows on the grounds of Castle Leoch, though, a gift from the priests of Prussia, if I remember correctly.”

The man rolls up the parchment quickly before dipping below the counter again. He produces a book nearly as big as himself before plopping it onto the counter.

“I wouldna touch that!” the man snaps, while still looking at the pages of the book in front of him.

Zayn glances behind him where Harry stands looking at a shelf of objects. He snaps his outreached hand back against his chest before red blossoms across his cheeks.

“Ye dinna want to touch random things in a witches shop,” Paddy explains as he looks wearily at the short man.

The man narrows his blue eyes at Paddy. “I am no witch! I dinna take ye for a man who likes to gossip, Patrick.”

Liam raises a hand to silence Paddy, though his back is turned to him and he cannot see the way Paddy’s lips part to respond. 

“I havena all day, Tomlinson. The ledgers, please.”

There is a hint of annoyance underneath the polite tone of Liam’s voice. Zayn craves to find an answer, but it makes him antsy. He wanders alongside Harry around the store, careful to keep his hands tucked under his armpits to resist touching anything.

“They say he is one of the Wee People. He helps too many people of the village and beyond. No one will accuse him of witchcraft,” Harry explains quietly. “And people are too afraid of fairies to upset them.”

Zayn glances over his shoulder, hoping their words don’t echo through the quiet store. “Who are the Wee People?” Zayn asks, assuming it has nothing to do with Tomlinson’s height. 

“Fairies,” Harry repeats, “Live up in the hills and such. Said to be kind, but mischievous. Has Liam told ye the tale Lady of the Stones? Ned thought ye one, but I dinna share his same belief in fairies. I dinna think Liam does, but Liam believes there is truth in every tale.”

“Wait,” Zayn says, grabbing Harry’s arm as he goes to touch something else unlabeled on a shelf, “The Lady of the Stones? You mean the stones of Craigh na Dun?”

“Aye,” Harry grunts, “Ye are a bit strange and I mean no offense but -”

“We are leaving,” Liam says suddenly, his voice echoing through the small shop as he holds out an arm for Zayn from across the room. His heart tries to dart out of his chest. Liam looks more angered than he had on their ride here. 

“I hope I was of some assistance, Mister Gibbons,” Louis says with a sarcastic smile before bowing slightly.

Zayn nods in return. “It was nice to meet you, Mister Tomlinson.”

The man holds out his hand, eyes sparkling. “Call me Louis. If you need anything for your infirmary, do not hesitate to stop by.”

Liam’s hand on his lower back presses down a bit harder as Zayn takes Louis’ hand into his. “Thank you Louis. I hope to only return for that reason and not because of more ill wishes.”

“Aye,” Louis agrees, “You have my word, Mister Gibbons. If I think one will land in your hands again, I wilna sell it.”

Zayn’s stomach tightens as Liam ushers him out of the store. “Did he know it was for me?”

Liam frowns, his lips pushing out into a pout. “I dinna think so, Sassenach. But many people say he can read thoughts. I dinna wish to tell ye what to do, but I would like it if ye dinna return here. No without me.”

Liam turns to face him before taking his face into his hands. He presses a soft kiss to his lips. “I have to do something, alone. I will return in an hour’s time.”

Zayn frowns as he curls his fingers into Liam’s shirt. He wonders for only the briefest of moments if this is considered PDA of the eighteenth century. “What did you find out in there?”

“He doesna write the true names of his customers but I will know when I return. I have to do something for Nialler as well.”

Liam places another kiss to his lips before nodding at Paddy and climbing onto his horse. Harry throws an arm around him, tugging him along the dirt path.

They stop at different shops, some to pick up supplies for the kitchens and some for Harry to chat with the shopkeepers despite his promise to Bridgette. He notices how often their faces light up for Harry before falling onto him, but they all are polite and kind when Zayn speaks to them.

And they all know his name, though there are moments where Zayn forgets he is Mister Gibbons to those who do not know Liam’s true last name. 

The last place they visit is on the far edge of the village, a bit of a walk down a dirt path surrounded by animals behind wooden fences. Paddy stands outside as they enter, but Zayn follows behind when Harry doesn’t stop him from doing so.

The moment he steps inside, that unsure feeling fills his gut, similar to the feeling he had when he first noticed Clan Horan all those weeks before.

Harry doesn’t seem to feel the same way, approaching a man sat at a desk covered in papers with his chin tilted high. There is no warm smile on his face, but the same hard-set expression that Zayn can find find on the Laird and his brother’s face.

Zayn stands aside, feeling uncomfortable as Harry and the man exchange words in Gaelic. He recognizes a few words, and it doesn’t take long for him to conclude they are speaking of Bonnie Prince Charlie. 

The man’s face is just as closed off as he speaks, his eyes ever so often glancing at Zayn. It is a look he knows well, but every glance has his body tensing.

Zayn stiffens as he hears a commotion from outside, one unheard by the men in his company as their words become louder. He can’t make out anything they are saying, other than the name of the Horan brothers now more frequently. The man spits when he speaks, and there is a frantic pitch to Harry’s voice. 

During his knife training, Paul and Paddy had taught him many things about where to strike a man’s body. He had tried each one, all whilst thinking how much easier it is to know what to do when you are not in an  _ actual _ situation of where one is needed. He has never been good in panicked situations.

When he was seven, Safaa had flipped over in the pool, feet sticking out of her floaty, and Zayn had stared at her in panic until his father’s voice broke him into action. 

He hears the echo of his father’s voice now as his body moves the moment he sees the other man going for his belt, as if he has spent his entire life training for moments like these, not just one session the day before. 

Zayn collides into Harry’s lanky frame as the man swings, the candle light shining off the short blade in his fist. He thought moments like this were supposed to feel as if time has slowed down, but the man’s quick movements are a blur around him.

His size is a benefit, Paddy had told him so. The man is large and bulky, his arms swinging over head the moment Zayn ducks. He tries to remember what Paddy has taught him about harming without killing, but panic washes through him as the other man’s knife breezes over the top of his head.

Zayn plunges the dirk forward at an arch, hoping for the best. He gasps slightly at the feeling, all noise drowned out by the thumping of his heart. The man’s hand grabs him, holding him close so their bodies press together. Zayn’s brain and fingers no longer seem to be connected; he cannot seem to move as the realization of what he just did hits him like a wave.

It is Harry who brings him back, shoving into him. The sudden release of his knife throws him off balance as he stumbles to the side. He hears the heavy collapse of a body but strong hands are grabbing him and turning him before he can see who it is that has fallen.

He moves to whip his knife in the air again but Paddy grabs his arm roughly, stopping him. “Are ye hurt lad?” His hands grab for the shirt Zayn is wearing but Zayn backs away. The idea of touching anyone at the moment makes bile rise into his throat. “Answer me. Yer covered in blood, is it yers or no?”

For the first time, there is emotion on Paddy’s face: rage. Zayn shakes his head frantically, not sure if it is true or not. Adrenaline and fear course through him so quickly that he can’t feel anything. He could be bleeding out and not know it. 

“Gimme yer shirt. Come on,” Paddy urges, as he takes off his own quickly. “Get yerself together, lad. I ken it is difficult the first time, but ye need to get yer mind together.”

Zayn regains the feeling in his hands as he quickly does what Paddy says. Harry is behind him, letting out a litany of panic sounding words before sputtering out what sounds like an explanation. It could be English or Gaelic, Zayn can’t figure it out, he can’t get his mind together the way Paddy has demanded.. 

Paddy snaps something, making Harry fall quiet. He hands Zayn his own shirt. “Put this on, ye will attract less attention. Head north. Harry knows the way.”

Zayn chances a look over his shoulder and wishes he hadn’t. The image of the man lying on his back lingers in his mind even after he turns back around.

“Liam,” Zayn tries, coming up with the first word in the front of his mind. _ Oh god _ , he killed someone. Oh god. For years he has tried to save people from dying, and there have been times he has failed. But it had never been his  _ fault _ . 

“He will find ye. Get out of here.”

Zayn barely has the shirt on before Harry is tugging him out of the house and towards their horses, leaving Paddy behind as he pulls on Zayn’s bloody shirt. It is too small, he thinks ridiculously.

He nearly trips as he steps out of the door, his feet hitting the body of another thick man laying on the ground. Blood stains his shirt, mirroring the man inside. He hadn’t seen any blood on Paddy, and he would turn back in to check him for any injuries if it were not for the rough way Harry is tugging him along. 

“Ye did not,” Harry says, firmly, as he sits on his own horse. He gives Zayn a hard look, demanding that Zayn listen to him. Zayn hadn’t realized he had been saying his panicked words out loud. “Ye merely hurt that man. I killed him.”

And with that, he grunts out to the horse he is on, riding off without making sure Zayn is following behind.

*

Harry does not say a word to him as they ride. Zayn is glad for the silence but he wishes his mind would be just as quiet as his riding partner. 

It is so common for this time. Paddy had said it is always difficult your first time. First time. He wonders how many times Paddy has stabbed a man like that. Or Harry. Or Liam. He never wants to do it again, no matter how much his life is in danger.

“We have arrived,” Harry shouts to him before his horse slows to a trot. 

Harry jumps from his horse in front an old stone building, one that looks as if it hasn’t been inhabited in years. Zayn follows suit, tying his horse beside Harry’s. The sky has darkened and the rain changes between a downpour and a drizzle. His shirt is nearly transparent, clinging to his torso. 

“What I tell you,” Harry says, his voice uncharacteristically demanding, “ye mustn’t tell a soul. Save for Liam. I trust Liam with my life. I trust Liam with Niall’s.”

“You have my word,” Zayn promises, following Harry into the building.

There are no candles inside, making it nearly impossible to see anything other than what the moonlight highlights. There is some hay and rocks on the ground he can feel under his boots, but other than that the open room they stand seems to be bare. An old church,  perhaps, since the roof is scattered with broken, colorful windows and slants into a point. 

“Gregory told me I had to pick up documents there. He said if I helped him he would help me get land, obtain somethin’ to give Niall when we marry, so Gregory would finally give his blessing. Well, I hoped that, ye ken.”

Zayn’s heart sinks in his chest as he listens. Harry paces when he talks, fingers smoothing up and down his legs as he does.

The shirt Paddy had given to him hangs off his shoulders, the sleeves constantly unrolling and falling past his hands. It is newly washed, still smelling of soap, but Zayn still sees the soaked red of his own shirt every time he looks down from when the unknown man had pressed their bodies together. 

“I wasna going to ask what documents,” Harry goes on. “Is no my place. I do as I’m told, nothing more.”

“What were you arguing about?” Zayn interrupts, as he tucks his fingers into his shirt. They itch for Liam, a feeling he is not sure what to do with. 

For years he told himself never to seek comfort in anyone but his sisters. Their families changed too much and too often to become attached, to need someone who might not be there the next day. He knew he could not be apart from Liam when he visited the stones, and now he knows what it feels like to need him and not have him here.

“Gregory suspects Jacobites amongst his men! He isna wrong but he has to ken Niall is one! I am no but a servant. Not even a soldier! It isna my place to talk politics among the men, only gossip with the servants. The village people will no donate money to a cause run by a servant. They will suspect it will just go into my own pocket!”

_ Jacobite _ . Zayn wracks his mind to remember the familiar word. They had been talking about Bonnie Prince Charlie, raising money for him - 

“Jacobite? A supporter of the Pretender?”

“Aye,” Harry sighs before slumping against a stone wall. “Dinna go around callin’ him that around Nialler. Passionate, he is. Ye would have thought it was him trying to take the throne. When he talks about it for hours on end, sometimes I only pretend to listen. I dinna share the same passion.”

Zayn doesn’t respond. He had noticed Niall’s passion and has not quite agreed with his methods of stripping Liam’s clothes to gain more support for his true king.

“Gregory hired an attacker to do his dirty work for him, I ken it deep in my soul,” Harry says, voice quieter than the soft rain falling outside. “The - the man said the Laird’s brother shouldna be with a man like me and he was going to make sure of it. Couldna have a man known to steal rent to raise money for a king he doesna support living in the castle. Was not me who did so, but I wasna about to tell him it was Niall if the man were to go back to Gregory with that information.”

“What would happen if Gregory knew?” Zayn asks. A cold sweeps over him, causing his teeth to chatter and his body shake with efforts to warm himself. 

“I dinna ken,” Harry sighs. “The Laird needs his brother. He isna in the best of health, and someone needs to watch over Leoch if he were to die before the little Laird turns of age.”

_ And he wants another heir from Niall _ , Zayn thinks to himself. 

Harry perks up suddenly and a tension floods through Zayn, his senses heightening. But he hears nothing than the dribble of rain and the whistle of a bird.

Zayn only ponders the weirdness of a bird singing at night in the rain for a moment before a massive shape, much too big to be a bird, steps through the entrance of the old abandoned church. 

Relief floods through him as he looks at the familiar shadow. His bum is barely off the ground before comforting hands are grabbing onto him to help him up and plump lips are sliding against his own.

“Ye alright, Sassenach?” Liam breathes against his lips, gripping onto him tight. Almost painfully so, but it makes Zayn feel like he is no longer crumbling apart. 

And it almost hides the fact that there is a tremble in Liam’s body that matches the force of concern in his eyes.

“I am not injured.”

“I am verra thankful for that, but it isna just yer body I am concerned for.”

“I am okay,” Zayn half lies in attempt to rid the look on Liam’s face, but it does not. “I am.”

“Paddy returned to the castle,” Liam announces, letting go of Zayn to face Harry but he remains close. “Yesterday an ill wish and today an attack, he will send word to Gregory that I have taken my husband away from the castle to stay away from further harm and have taken you, Harry, to tend to him.”

Zayn opens his mouth to tell Harry that he absolutely does not have to do that since he has heard Harry say more than a few times that he is nothing but a servant with a tone in his voice that breaks his heart. But his lips snap shut when Harry speaks.

“It wasna Zayn they were after! It was me, I ken it well! The bastard said it himself.”

Liam does not appear surprised by this revelation. “Gregory will understand my need to keep Zayn safe. Paddy is under my charge and if Zayn is in danger, Paddy has reason to defend him. It should keep the Laird from suspecting things we have learned, though he will no likely be verra happy if he has other plans if this one failed.”

“How did you know?” Zayn asks before Harry can.

“A man attacked Paddy as well. Said he dinna mean him any harm, but he was only planning on the servant boy being there. No one else.”

Zayn feels sick and the want for home returns for the first time in awhile. It returns suddenly and forcefully, making him ache inside worse than he already does. 

Liam links their fingers, squeezing tightly. “Are ye alright to ride through the night, Sassenach? I see ye shivering, but we canna stay here for too long.”

Zayn pulls Liam close and with a sideways glance at Harry, Harry moves farther into the dark to give them privacy. There is just enough moonlight for Zayn to make out the softness of Liam’s features, the glow from the moon making him appear even softer. 

“I need the truth,” Zayn whispers. The silence around them echoes, and he isn’t quite sure the words aren’t floating to Harry. He doesn’t care if he knows his feelings, but he had seen how flustered Harry had gotten when Liam made it about Zayn and not him. “Is it truly just a story to protect Harry or do you believe me in harm as well?”

The expression on Liam’s face does not change. “My sister was harmed once, for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I think the man who wanted to kill Harry would have done the same to you. No for personal reasons, but because ye were there. And because ye were there, ye might not be safe in Castle Leoch. I dinna want to take the chance, Sassenach.”

Zayn nods, pressing his wet body against Liam’s. He dances his fingers over the slope of his neck, circling one around the beauty mark that stains his throat. He cannot see it, but he has traced it so often as Liam lay falling asleep that he knows he is touching it now.

“And if ye are to come into harm’s way, ye have my men and me to protect you. Ye will no be harmed while I live, ye understand?” 

The force of Liam’s expression makes Zayn nod quickly. “I understand, Liam. Where are we going then?” Zayn asks.

“Home,” Liam whispers, the tip of their noses touching. “I am takin’ ye to my home.”

*

The sun peeks over the horizon when Liam finally announces they are almost to Lallybroch. The sky floods with pinks and yellows. Zayn can see a bit of it through the gaps of branches overhead. 

There is an open path to Lallybroch, a faster route Harry has mentioned, but Liam explains he prefers to be hidden from the Guard, a group of Scottish men who would be quick to spread word of Liam’s location for a bit of money in their pocket.

“As loyal as Scots are, no man will turn down a chance to better feed their bairns,” Liam had explained. “I will no trust being out in the open until we are home.”

Liam’s face glows just as warmly as the sky above when he eyes his home. He doesn’t have to announce it for Zayn to know. It is written on Liam’s face.

Zayn guides his horse behind Liam’s as they trot underneath an arching stone wall. There is a small home, though bigger than the other ones they have passed, sitting before a long stretch of green. Zayn can see some fences surrounding fields of grain, and in the very distance, what seems to be the water mill Liam had mentioned before.

The doors open to the house, revealing a man with long dark hair and a cane in hand. He limps as he walks down the pathway towards them. It is not until he is close that Zayn realizes one of his legs is wooden.

“Nicola! Come out here! Quickly!”

Zayn feels his breath clogging in his lungs as a familiar face pops out of the doorway. Her face is shaped so similarly to Liam’s, but her eyes are different. They widen and fill with tears before she is grabbing at her skirts and taking off in a run towards Liam.

Liam hops from his horse to take his sister into his arms. A rush of breath passes Zayn’s lips as he watches, making his own eyes fill with tears until he rapidly blinks them away.

“Oh ye bastard!” Nicola shouts as she pulls away before slapping him repeatedly in the chest. Liam takes her arms into his hands, but it does not stop her from being frantic. Tears fly from her eyes and anger spews from her mouth. “Ye leave for years! No word! I dinna ken if ye were dead or alive! And then ye return without sending word ahead! I feel like my heart might give out just lookin’ at ye!”

Zayn jumps from his horse after Harry does. He eyes the swell of Nicola’s belly before he notices the small boy tip toeing out of the house and hiding behind the man with the cane’s legs. 

“I couldna return,” Liam explains, his voice strained, “Ye have my word, sister. I wouldna have stayed away if I had another choice.”

Nicola doesn’t seem too pleased as she rips her hands from Liam’s grip and folds one hand over the round of her belly. “The last I seen of ye, ye were being taken away by that bastard of a captain! Yer face so swollen I could barely recognize ye! I sent Paddy to find ye, but I havena heard word from that bastard either!”

“The last I seen of ye, Captain Malik striked ye and dragged ye off unconscious, sister,” Liam snaps back. “I dinna ken if ye were dead or alive until Paddy told me. I was in prison, I couldna likely return to Lallybroch. I have no doubt there have been soldiers here asking about me.”

“And France? Were ye held captive there?” 

Liam makes an annoyed noise as he glares at the man with the boy. “Ye killin’ me, sister! I said I am sorry a thousand times. Do ye need me to fall on my knees and beg?”  

Nicola crosses her arms over her breasts. She doesn’t seem too happy still, but she glances angrily at Harry and Zayn and changes the subject. “Ye look as if ye are in need of a good meal and some warm clothes. Riding in the rain, ach, ma would tail yer hide.”

“Aye,” Liam says with a wide grin. He holds his hand out to Zayn until Zayn approaches hesitantly, and then he slides that hand around his lower back. “Let me introduce ye to my husband. Zayn.”

Nicola only looks at him for a moment before the rage from a moment before returns. “Ye couldna return home but ye could get married! That is the time ye send a letter! Oh, I could rip yer head right off, Liam!”

The man with the cane approaches before taking an arm around Nicola. “Calm yerself before ye make that baby come too early.” The smile on his face is kind, but his eyes are hesitant and nervous as he holds a hand out to Liam. “Good to see you, brother.”

Liam nods, his jaw tensing as his lips press together. He flicks his eyes between the man and Nicola, before focusing on the way his arm is around her. “Eoghan.”

Zayn shakes the man’s hand when he holds it out to him. “Nicola and I married a few years ago. This here is little Liam.”

Eoghan cups a hand around the head of the boy hiding behind his legs. Three years old at the most, Zayn thinks. He has Liam’s wide eyes and round button nose, his hair a bright shade of red. 

“Married?” Liam blurts, his nose wrinkling in offense. “All those years helpin’ me fight men away from my sister’s skirt and ye turned around and snuck up it yerself?”

Nicola says something that sounds like she is damning her brother to hell. “He couldna verra well ask ye permission with you refusing to come home whilst too preoccupied in yer husband’s pants! A British man no doubt! Are ye sure it was a prison that kept you from home?”

Zayn feels like a fire has been lit against his cheeks as Harry lets out a small laugh behind him, one that he fails to cover with a convincing cough. 

The bickering continues back and forth until Eoghan finally cups Zayn’s elbow, gesturing him to follow him into the house. Little Liam watches him with big, hesitant eyes, but he doesn’t stray too far from him as they enter the house. 

A massive dog greets Zayn as he steps foot into the kitchen, making Zayn understand why Liam always refers to dogs as beasts. Her giant paws land on Zayn’s chest, her snout against his face as she sniffs at him. Zayn struggles to control his balance as he gently tries to guide the dog onto his feet.

“Get down, Ial!” Eoghan grunts as he swats his cane at the pup. She sits in front of Zayn, tail wagging quickly across the floor with a look of anticipation on her face until Zayn scratches under her chin. “That there is Liam’s beast. Excited probably ‘cause ye smell of him. Go on, Ial! Ye da is here.”

The large black tan dog stretches her front legs before bounding out the front door. 

“I am sorry about that,” Eoghan says, as he fixes them glasses of whiskey. “The dog and my wife. They will be like that for some time. Nicola has gone nights without sleeping, too worried about Liam to rest. She wasna expecting to be left to take care of Lallybroch. Isna a woman’s place, though she runs it better than any man here could. Myself included, and I used to help Geoff manage the rent when I was a wee lil’ bairn.”

Zayn takes the cup of whiskey with a thank you. It doesn’t take long before a girl about his own age is bustling into the room with warm plates of food in hand and a sweet smile on her face as she places them on the long stretch of table in front of him. 

“Should I?” Harry starts under his breath, indicating the servants with his chin. 

“Serve me? No,” Zayn says firmly, surprised that Harry would think that he even had to. “You are not just a servant to me, Harry. You are my friend, and a welcomed guest here. Eat.”

He turns to Eoghan as he joins them at the table. He can still hear Nicola and Liam yelling loudly at each other, and he says a silent prayer that they love and miss each other enough not to cause the other harm.

“You grew up with Liam, then?” Zayn asks. If Eoghan shares his wife’s displeasure of Liam marrying an Englishman, there is no indication. 

“Aye. Ran around Lallybroch together causing mayhem. His da whipped me as if he were my own,” Eoghan says with a massive smile. “After Liam left, I came to take care of Nicola, help her with Liam’s work if she needed it. We married a few months later. There was no plottin’ for Nicola’s skirt as Liam thinks.”

“Liam is a bit protective,” Zayn laughs quietly. He hadn’t realized how hungry he had been until he started eating. He cannot even remember when he last ate. The last day and a half has felt like a year.

Liam and Nicola join them a bit later, the anger still sizzling between them. With both of them wearing tight expressions, they look more alike than they had previously.

“So Zayn,” Nicola starts, as she sits beside him. Liam eats quietly, his angered expression starting to fall into exhaustion as he watches the two of them. “Where are ye from? Tell me a bit about yerself.”

Zayn clears his throat nervously. “Erm, Bradford, England. I met Liam in search of my family. My mother is from Scotland, you see. I am a healer, and your brother wounds himself often.”

A soft smile breaks across Nicola’s face. “Aye. Ye are perfect for him then.”

Zayn’s face grows hot again at Liam’s noise of approval. The Payne siblings finally smile at each other, the tension easing considerably. 

“This is now yer home more than mine, but if ye need anything, dinna be afraid to ask. Catriona would ye be so kind as to fix up Lord Payne’s room and fix one up for Eoghan and I.”

“Yes, mi’lady,” Catriona says with a short bow. “Would ye be needing a bath drawn, mi’lord?” 

Liam sputters his food, looking at Nicola instead of the maid. “Ye dinna have to change rooms for me sister. A bed and a door to close is all I need.”

He looks at Zayn expectantly until Zayn nods in agreement. “Nothing more. I can manage a bath myself, Catriona, thank you kindly.”

Nicola waves her hand in dismissal. “Yer the lord, Liam. Not me. It is yer bedroom ever since our da passed. It is no up for discussion.”

Liam reaches over the table, taking Nicola’s hand into his own. Like Bridgette, Zayn thinks, Nicola has ruled the household, even when Liam had been here. “Tomorrow I would like to see where ye have buried him.”

Nicola nods as she pats the back of Liam’s hand. “Aye, brother.”

With a full stomach, Liam guides Zayn to his room. It is massive, the bed even bigger than their bed back at Castle Leoch. A canopy sits above it, with sheer fabric that falls around the sides for privacy. There are clothes cabinets filled with men’s clothing and Zayn wonders if Nicola had never moved Liam’s clothes or if she had the servant bring them back to his room.

His eyes wander over the paintings on the wall. The eyes staring back at him are familiar and Zayn reaches out gently to touch the soft, painted face of the woman.

“My mother,” Liam explains as he wraps around Zayn’s back. He presses a kiss to the hinge of Zayn’s jaw. “She painted these. This is one she painted of herself.”

“She was beautiful,” Zayn says quietly. Beside it, there is one of a man sitting on the front porch steps. A younger boy sits beside him and a toddler standing between the two of them. He wonders how his mother was able to capture the warmth of Liam’s eyes with paint.

“My brother, William,” Liam says, grazing a finger over the boy that Zayn had thought was Liam. “Passed from an infection when I was just a bairn. Nicola was born a year later.”

“How did your mother pass?” Zayn asks quietly as he tilts his head, allowing Liam’s lips to move along his jaw. His strong hands start at the buttons of the Paddy’s shirt. He should have taken Catriona’s offer of a bath, to rid the grime he feels like he is covered in, since he feels too tired to draw one up for himself. 

“Childbirth. Nicola never knew her,” Liam says quietly. His front is as hot as coal fresh out of a fire against Zayn’s back. Liam is heavy against him, and Zayn wants Liam to lean on him until the tension and stress seep out of him. “My father only a few years ago.”

Zayn turns to face Liam as the shirt slips from his arms and pools by their feet. Liam’s hands spread across his bare skin, touching over his belly before sliding to his back. His palms plant firmly at his lower back until their bodies are stitched together. 

“He was there during the lashing,” Liam whispers quietly, as Zayn traces the shape of his face with a brush of his fingers. “I ken seeing me like that was no verra good for his heart.”

Zayn’s thumbs brush over Liam’s eyelids as they flutter closed. “You blame yourself.”

“Aye,” Liam breathes. His hands stretch up Zayn’s back, his finger stretching over his shoulder blades. “Just as Nicola blames herself for the death of my mother.”

He wants to say that it is ridiculous on both of their parts to feel that way, but it is a feeling he knows well. There is no way for him to tell Liam how his parents died in a car crash while picking him up from daycare without giving away the fact that he is from the future.

“I understand the feeling,” Zayn says, the most truth he can give. Liam has not pressed him with questions about his own parents’ death, and it is one thing he has always appreciated about him. He is envious of Liam’s ability to speak about it, especially since it has only been a few years since. Zayn struggles with it, even after seventeen years.

“It was the truth,” Liam starts, lips parting over his own. “Ye are alright?” 

“No,” Zayn breathes before planting his lips to Liam. Liam doesn’t resist, kissing him back with a force that knocks the wind out of him. His touch is gentler than ever as he traces Zayn’s skin between stripping off his clothes. 

“Do ye want to talk to me about it?” Liam murmurs, as Zayn pulls back to tug on the belt of Liam’s kilt. Liam dodges the kiss he tries to press on his lips, cupping his cheeks and pressing their foreheads together instead.

Zayn breathes heavily as he continues with undoing Liam’s clothing. He feels if talking about it might make him fall apart, and he just wants to keep himself together with Liam’s touch. 

“If ye need to talk about it -”

“I would prefer not to,” Zayn interrupts, as he finally manages to get Liam free from his kilt. He tosses the fabric aside before pressing against him. “Not yet, please.”

“I can help ye think of something different then,” Liam breathes, as he falls to the edge of the bed, pulling Zayn to straddle his lap before scooching higher into the mound of pillows.

His heart flutters in his chest as Liam lifts his thighs and slides between them with ease. There is a moan on his tongue before Liam even touches him as he realizes what his husband is doing. Even with expectation, Zayn still gasps at the sudden touch of Liam’s mouth against him.

Zayn digs his knees into the mattress, grabbing for the headboard as Liam’s tongue presses against him. His body tenses forcefully to prevent himself from rocking back against Liam’s mouth, as the urge to do so is great.

Liam’s hands are strong on his hips, pulling him down against him until Zayn gives up on his attempts at being still. The feeling of a tongue pressing inside of him and the drag of Liam’s teeth against his sensitive skin is something he has not felt before, and he cannot hold back the soft gasps that pass his lips.  

He tries to keep the noises quiet out of consideration of Liam’s family somewhere else in the house, but they come out in rapid succession as Liam licks and sucks at him. His fingers are a welcome pressure, making Zayn lose his control over his hips. 

He rolls back against Liam’s touch as Liam’s mouth sucks against the inside of his thighs. He curls his fingers around the base of his cock tightly as that feeling of pleasure builds, wanting to come with Liam pressed inside of him. 

“Liam,” Zayn pleads.

It is all he needs before Liam stops touching Zayn to crawl between his legs until their hips are meeting again. His mouth finds Zayn’s as an arm curls around his lower back. Zayn reaches behind him, trembling in Liam’s arms as he guides Liam’s cock against him. 

“Every day I feel,” Liam breathes out tightly as he slides his thumb along Zayn’s jaw, “more.”

Zayn rocks down against him, going still from the pressure of Liam’s arms around him as he bottoms out. “More,” he breathes, against Liam’s lips. Liam’s eyes are intent on his, heavy underneath his thick eyelashes. 

“I canna find the words, Sassenach,” Liam explains, his words cutting off into a soft moan as Zayn grinds down against him. “Seeing you in my home. Ye belong here almost as much as ye belong in my arms.”

Zayn works himself on Liam’s cock, slow rolls of his hips that make him feel as he is slowly coming apart. The head of his prick drags against Liam’s belly, coating it in a shine of precome. Liam succeeded in making him thinking of something else, as his mind can now only focus on how sensitive he feels with Liam touching so much of him. 

He comes after Liam, holding tightly onto his husband as Liam repeats a saying over against the side of his neck. It is in Gaelic, but the warmth in his voice tells Zayn what he is saying; something he too is too afraid of confessing.

He doesn’t know another language, but he traces his hidden message of _ I love you _ against Liam’s skin and hopes the other lad can feel it just as much as he does.

*

Over the next few days, Zayn spends most of his time helping Nicola with anything she sends him off to do. Little Liam follows him around everywhere, despite his mother snapping at him to leave his Uncle Zayn alone. He likes being called uncle more than he would care to admit, and he has to bite at his smile to calm it down everytime the word leaves Nicola’s lips. 

Liam spends most of his time going over finances with Eoghan and Nicola, which Zayn hears about nonstop when they go to bed until he distracts Liam with something else. 

Harry busies himself with the other servants despite Liam’s insistence that he needn’t. It is the only time Zayn sees brightness in his eyes so he convinces Liam to lay off and let Harry be where he pleases.

“I cannot begin to understand it,” Zayn says, as he rolls hay for Liam to carry onto a carriage. “Why is it so important that Harry give Niall something in marriage? They should just marry for love, no?”

Liam makes these grunting noises as he lifts the hay and throws them into the carriage. “Is it not the way it works in England?” he asks breathlessly.

Zayn doesn’t respond. It is becoming increasingly harder not to tell Liam the truth of where he is from.

“Land is important. More rent, more supplies, more soldiers to swear loyalty to the Clan,” Liam explains to him as he slumps down in a pile of loose hay. His face is red and sweaty despite the cool air, and he wipes his sleeve over his forehead. “And if ye remember, Sassenach, we dinna marry for love either.”

Zayn sighs. They found love though, even if neither of them will say it out loud. “More chances to take food from those who can barely feed themselves so the people in the castle can stuff their faces.”

“Aye, I agree with ye,” Liam agrees sadly. “Gregory has wanted his hands on Lallybroch for some time, and that is the reason I will never let them have it. We always fed well growing up, but only enough to keep hunger away. Me da wouldna eat if there was a tenant that was hungry.

“It was one of the reasons I agreed to marry you, Sassenach,” Liam goes on, eyes diverted to the ceiling. “If I die, Lallybroch is yours.”

Zayn touches the ring on his hand distractedly. Liam had given him the key to his home the day they married, when they still didn’t know each other enough to trust the other with something like that. 

“If you die I will bring you to life and kill you myself,” Zayn threatens, as he continues to roll hay. He hopes his hands do not become too rough from the work - there is something about Liam’s fascination with his palms that makes him want to soak them in shea butter for hours at a time just to prevent them from ever getting rough. He has yet to locate shea butter, but Nicola had mentioned a moisture made out of pig lard. He has not yet had the stomach to use it. 

Liam huffs out a laugh, eyes sparkling with it as he looks back at Zayn. “I dinna doubt your healing talent.”

They work in silence, filling the carriage until Zayn’s shoulders start to ache. He wants to ask for a break. He knows Liam would not judge him for being so tired. Before he can, though, Eoghan approaches with word of a guest for Liam.

Zayn tenses as Liam glances at him. “Who is it, brother?”

“Paddy, but he has brought someone else along with him and your sister is no too happy. Would ye go see her before she rips his head off like she has been threatening to do to ye since ye stepped foot in Lallybroch?”

Liam takes off without word and Zayn leaves his work to follow after him. He sees the horses ahead, can recognize Paddy’s build from a far. The man beside him is just as recognizable, his brunette hair shining red from the stream of sun above them.

Nicola stands with her arms crossed over her chest, speaking Gaelic to the men as they approach. Paddy looks bored, but it is no surprise.

Beside him, Niall looks agitated. There are dark bags under his eyes again and he looks as if he has not slept or ate since Zayn had last seen him at the castle. 

“Cousin, tell yer sister to allow me into the damn house! I dinna care to talk finance at the moment, but I tell ye, any money my father has kept from yer mother does no have to do wi’ me!”

Liam does not stop, and Zayn watches on nervously as Liam grabs Niall by the collar of his shirt with an angry fist, making Niall stumble back into Paddy.

“This land doesna belong to the Horans. She can deny ye entrance and I support her decision to do so but I dinna care about any debt yer father owes to my mother.”

“Well I do!” Nicola shouts from behind, but it goes ignored as Niall struggles to speak.

“Ye swore loyalty to -” Niall starts, but Liam jerks him once to quiet him.

“Clan Horan, as long as my feet rest on Horan soil,” Liam reminds him.

“Just let me see him,” Niall whispers, no longer attempting to pull away from Liam. His eyes are pleading, but when they flicker to Zayn, it disappears. 

“Did ye tell yer brother it was him collecting wages for  _ your _ king or no?” Liam grits through his teeth, jerking Niall again. “If ye break a law ye must be willing to face the punishment when caught. Did ye not tell me the same thing?”

“I did no such thing!” Niall grunts. Zayn had not known Liam suspected such a thing, and he is unsure of whether he believes Niall or not. “I have been fighting with my brother for his blessing! Telling him that would no give me that result, aye?” 

He has seen the way Niall looks when with Harry, and his heart believes Niall would never do something like that. But he has heard stories, seen the way Niall used Liam, and his brain tells his heart to not be so sure.

“Yer word,” Liam demands. “Ye will not step foot into my house or anywhere near Harry without giving me yer word.”

“I swear it! On my own flesh and my son’s!”

Niall whispers it, but it is loud enough for all to hear. No one reacts, and Zayn turns his head as if he isn’t listening when Niall glances at him.

Liam finally lets him go, making Niall stumble. “Let him in, Nicola. Harry decides when you leave so you should fall to your knees the moment you see him.”

Niall’s face hardens as he shoves Liam away and brushes his shirt off as if trying to rid the lingering feel of Liam’s touch. “Ye would not react so calmly if I kept ye from yer husband, aye? Just ‘cause Harry and I are no married doesna mean I love him any less than the way ye love yer Sassenach.”

Liam reaches for him again when Niall turns to Zayn, and Niall only takes one step towards him when he notices. He holds up a hand that has Liam stilling his movements. As angry as he is, Liam trusts Niall. 

“Paddy told me ye wounded the man so he couldna hurt Harry. I owe ye a life.”

The tension in Liam seeps away and flows into Zayn. “You owe me nothing. Harry is my friend.”

“Either way,” Niall grunts, “I am in yer debt and Horans pay their debts.”

And with that, Niall turns and walks into the house, all eyes turned to watch him as he goes. 

It is Paddy who first breaks the silence. “Could I bother ye for some food, Nic? My stomach has been talking angrily to me for some time.”

Nicola takes Paddy by the elbow. “Only if ye give me yer word you will save food for us for supper. No that I will believe ye since ye gave me yer word ye would send a letter when ye found my brother! And here we are, years later!”

Paddy lets out a low groan but allows Nicola to guide him into the house as she goes on. 

“You thought Niall put the blame on Harry?” Zayn asks, as he watches the others disappear into the house. Liam does not turn to him as he stares down at his own rough palms.

“No, but I had to be sure, ye ken. Gregory has had his men following Nialler about the castle. The night before last, he spoke to me about Gregory’s insistence he marry soon.”

“Why?” Zayn asks. He rests his palms on Liam’s shoulders, pleading for him to turn around. He can feel the raised scars through the thin material.

“I dinna ken. Niall says his health is no well. Has he been to see you?”

“No.”

Liam finally turns around, his hands still held out in front of him. Zayn slides his own underneath, dragging the pads of his fingers over Liam’s knuckles.

“I dinna enjoy being angry. Not in front of you.”

Zayn slides his thumbs over Liam’s palms before gripping them and holding them to his chest. “I understand, Liam.”

Liam leans forward until his lips press against Zayn’s forehead. “I havena said it before, but I love you with every part of me, Sassenach.”

Zayn’s eyes fall closed, his teeth digging harshly into his lip. The warmth of Liam’s voice washes through him, pushing away the chill from the air. 

“Even the angry parts.”

Zayn tilts his chin back. “And I love every part of you, Liam.” His eyes find Liam’s. “Even the angry parts.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that this chapter and the next will have violence in them. I apologize for the delay, I have been kind of in a ick place the last week and whenever I'm there I kind of hate my writing and don't even want to look at it.

Zayn loses himself in the routine of everyday life in Lallybroch, continuously forgetting about the reasons Liam had brought him here. It is the closest feeling to home he has felt other than being beside Liam, and there are times when he has to remind himself that they cannot stay for long.

Liam has to hide when the Guard approaches, and each time Zayn fills with a fear that rocks through him so roughly his body trembles with it. Liam soothes him afterwards, but he doesn’t do the best job at hiding his own fear.

Nicola gives birth to a son a week after they arrive at Lallybroch. She names him Geoffrey James Eoghan Payne. Despite his hesitations, as he has never helped a woman deliver before, he assists the midwife. The sound of Nicola’s screams still echo in his mind, as do the thoughts of what could have gone wrong.

He couldn’t help but remember what Liam had told him about the children in the villages losing their mothers. Even Liam’s own mother had lost her life while giving birth to Nicola. Zayn had known it was on everyone else’s mind as well when he had stepped into the dining room where the men were waiting. He had seen it on Liam and Eoghan’s faces as they had paced restlessly around the room.

Zayn had announced the birth of a boy but there was no relief or excitement on Eoghan’s face. His brother in law grabbed him and demanded to know how Nicola was instead.

Niall had not stayed long - only a few days - until he rode back with Paddy. If the sounds coming from the guest room were any indication, Zayn figured him and Harry had made amends. Harry hasn’t spoken much of it, but the brightness has returned to his face. It had been tense between Niall and Liam, but that tension has disappeared from Liam since he left.

“When did it stop working?”

“I dinna ken, mi’lord.”

Liam glares at the worker who stands nervously before him. The worker wrings his hands in front of him, his eyes wide as if expecting a punishment at any moment. “Ye dinna ken?”

“No, no. It has been for some time.”

Liam sighs as he crosses his arms over his chest, looking away from the worker to the mill behind him. “Why did Nicola no mention this to me?”

“I canna say, mi’lord.”

“Thank ye, Arthur. I will inspect it. Run back to the house would ye, and fetch my husband something to eat? It might take us awhile.”

Zayn takes the worker’s hand into his own. As accustomed to Lallybroch as he has become, he still does not like the ordering of servants around, especially when it is for things he is very capable of doing. “No rush on that. I had a big breakfast.”

“Aye, mi’lord.”

Zayn turns from the worker to see Liam stripping his kilt from his body. Zayn stares with his mouth open as the kilt pools around his ankles. “What do you think you are doing, Liam?”

Liam throws him a confused look over his shoulder as he struggles to take off his boots. “I am going to swim underneath to see if there is an obstruction. Why do ye look like that, Sassenach?”

Zayn’s face burns as he takes in their surroundings. There are a few farm workers a few yards off, but no one close enough to see Liam’s bare anything. “You do not wear under garments, Liam.”

Liam throws the boot onto his kilt before turning to look at Zayn with his hands on his hips. The tunic he wears covers most of him, but he can still see the pale skin that usually hides beneath his kilt emerging from the tunic. “No, ye ken this verra well, Sassenach.”

Zayn’s face burns hotter. “It is too cold, you will freeze.”

There is amusement in Liam’s face as he approaches him with his arms out. He folds those arms around Zayn in an embrace. “Ye will warm me up after, no?”

Zayn shoves him away playfully. “You know it well.”

He stands watch as Liam disappears under the water, causing bubbles to rise to the top. It does not seem very deep, but he loses track of Liam in moments.

“Zayn!” Zayn!”

Running up the hill towards them is a very red faced Nicola with her skirts held in her fists. The alarm on her face has Zayn running to her, until she points a finger behind Zayn.

Zayn holds a hand over his eyes to peer in the distance, where he sees the cluster of horses. The Guard.

“Where is my brother?” Nicola asks breathlessly, her voice coated in panic. “They musn’t see him!”

“He is under the water!” Zayn huffs as he runs to the river. He splashes a hand against the water, but Liam does not emerge. “Without any under garments!”

Panic swoops through Zayn as the Guard nears closer. It is only until they are close enough to see them as well that Liam finally emerges, his wet hair clinging to his face.

“Something is stuck,” Liam mumbles, wiping away the stray hairs. “I can -”

“Get back under,” Zayn hisses through his teeth in warning. “The Guard is here.”

Liam’s eyes widen for a moment, and Zayn is just about to hiss at him again when he takes a deep breath and disappears.

He cannot calm himself as he watches the men approach. They cannot linger for long. Liam may be able to do anything, but he cannot stay without breathing. Nicola shoves him to a sitting position so his bottom is over Liam’s kilt and boots.

“Do ye have a broken water wheel there, sir?” calls the man in the lead of the horses. He jumps from his horse when they are a few yards away, hands on his hips as he looks to the mill.

Zayn looks to Nicola, who glares at him angrily, until he realizes it is him that is being spoken to.

“I am sorry, sir. I am afraid my cousin here doesna speak,” Nicola says, before Zayn can find the words for a response.

The man raises an eyebrow. “Yer cousin, ye say? Does his hands work?”

“No when they are clasped in prayer,” Nicola says scoldingly. Zayn squirms as Liam’s boots dig into his bottom. “If ye dinna mind.”

The man does not budge. Instead, he peers at the mill with a hand over his eyes. “I can take a look if ye want it. I will no disrupt yer prayer, ma’am.”

Zayn jolts, ready to tell the man no but Nicola elbows him hard into the side. Her lips are pursed tight as they watch the member of the Guard approach the river.

Zayn does pray silently as the man peers into the river. He isn’t sure the guy actually knows what he is doing as he hums thoughtfully here and there. Zayn waits in panic for Liam to emerge any moment where the bubbles float at the surface.

“We truly are in no need of assistance, sir. If ye need food or drink, my cousin and I will be more than happy to assist you in the house,” Nicola says, as she stands. Zayn does not follow suit, but heavies his weight over Liam’s clothes.

The man turns to Zayn then, clicking his tongue. “Yer cousin there looks quite familiar. What is his name?”

“Jamie MacTavish,” Nicola says without hesitation. Zayn is impressed with how calm and collected she is in front of the men though she must be full of fear. “A bastard of Laird Horan’s.”

The man peers at Zayn for a long time. Too long. Liam is probably suffocating -

The wheel starts to move suddenly, making a sound as if the machine were yawning. They all stare in wonder before a white tunic floats to the surface.

“Ah, those damn bairns! I caught them bare in this river too often!” Nicola cusses as she reaches into the river to grab for the tunic. The men stare on, amused. “I am verra thankful for ye offer of assistance. Would ye be needing that food and drink?”

Nicola walks off with the man, gesturing towards their home before he finally gets onto the horse. She sends Zayn a small wave, eyes heavily alarmed before she takes the man’s hand and hops onto the horse behind him.

Zayn is buzzing, fighting himself to stay still until the men finally disappear from sight. He rips himself from the ground, a moment from throwing himself over the bank and into the river when Liam finally emerges.

Liam grabs for Zayn as he struggles to inhale as much air as possible. Zayn holds onto him as he trembles, his head resting against the bank and he breathes in and out deeply.

“It is working again,” Liam wheezes.

Zayn snorts out a laugh as he presses his forehead to Liam’s cold one. “Nicola brought them to the house but I need to get you warm before you freeze to death on me.”

Liam presses a cold hand to Zayn’s cheek. “Bring me to Eoghan’s barn, Sassenach. Ye will not lose me yet.”

Zayn plops a kiss to Liam’s lips. “Good. Remember what I said about killing you.”

“I will no soon forget.”

Liam finally lets Zayn go so he can get his clothes. He stands so his bare bum sits over the surface, the shine of his scars glistening with water and sunlight. Zayn admires him for a moment before he offers a hand to help Liam from the river.

Zayn stands in front of him as he wraps the kilt around his hips. His teeth chatter, but Zayn does not stop to look Liam over everywhere in fear of the Guard returning this way.

Eoghan’s barn is only a mile from Liam’s land, but it feels as if forever passes by before they finally reach it.

“Eoghan still tends to this place when he has the time,” Liam explains as Zayn helps him up to the steps to the small house beside the barn. “I ken he means he has others tend to it. He has no been able to since the loss of his leg. No one has lived here since he has married my sister.”

The inside of the house is seemingly empty, but Zayn still guides Liam in with caution. “You are freezing half to death yet you still have enough energy to be angry about someone marrying your sister?”

Liam grunts. “My friend, best friend.”

Zayn snorts as he follows Liam’s lead. He brings them to a bedroom, clearly abandoned by the dust and cobwebs taking over the ceiling. “Is that not better than some man who barely knows her? His loyalty to you will assure that he treats her well.”

“Och,” Liam cusses as he pulls open the cabinet. A puff of dust appears in his face but he ignores it as he grabs for a tunic inside. “I ken he will treat her well, Sassenach. But I am no going to like it.”

Zayn snorts as he takes the tunic from Liam to put it on him. “You are stubborn, Liam Payne.”

Liam flashes him a grin when his head emerges through the collar of the fabric. “I ken it would make ye smile, love. Ye have looked as if ye were a moment from emptying yer stomach the whole way here.”

Zayn flattens his hands on Liam’s chest before he rests his cheek against it. Liam doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around him. “I was scared they would have found you.”

Liam hums. “Dinna fash. I will no be taken again on my own land. We will leave soon, in a few day’s time, though I dinna want to.”

Zayn props his chin on Liam’s chest to look up at him. Liam has seemed completely different here. More relaxed, perhaps, even though it is more dangerous for him to be here than anywhere else. “Where do you wish to go?”

Liam sighs. “I dinna ken, yet. Somewhere far, I think.”

They rock in place as Zayn warms his hands over Liam’s back until he is no longer shivering against his touch. Zayn listens to Liam’s stories about his childhood with Eoghan, never straying too far from each other as the house is cold without a fire.

“Nicola and Eoghan will return here when we can move home,” Liam murmurs as he wanders through the sitting room towards the fireplace. “I will no stop to get the price of my head, Sassenach.”

Zayn smiles softly at Liam. He always speaks of Lallybroch as if it is the both of theirs. “Do you know the Duke of Sandringham?”

The fire sparks under Liam’s hands in moments. It had taken Zayn forever to start a fire while rubbing sticks together when they had been collecting rent, but Liam does it like he can control fire. “Aye. No verra well. He visited Leoch once when I was there with my da.”

Liam stands once he is satisfied with the growing flame. He plants his hands on his hips and watches the wood burn. “Had a flatulence issue if my memory is correct. Why do ye ask, Sassenach?”

As important as it is, it had slipped Zayn’s mind after everything that had happened. “Niall said he was going to speak with him about removing the price on your head.”

“Mhmph.”

It is the only response Zayn gets for awhile. Liam continues to stare at the flames thoughtfully. He thought Liam would be excited, but maybe he is worrying about getting his hopes up like Zayn is.

“Not a good idea?” Zayn starts as he walks up to Liam. He kisses his shoulder blade softly as he curls his hands to Liam’s front, flattening his palm over his heart. “What are you thinking?”

“I dinna want to be in the Duke’s debt,” Liam murmurs after a moment. “Niall can do as he pleases. If I can return home with peace with ye and raise a family, I will no complain about how it was done.”

“And a dog.”

Liam’s body shakes as he laughs. “Aye Sassenach. We will have the wee ones runnin’ around with plenty of dogs by their side.”

Zayn tucks his face against Liam’s back as he warms at the thought of them having a family. Liam teaching the little ones how to tend to the farm and playing doctor with Zayn’s medical bag. He opens his mouth to say so, when the distinct sound of a bird call sounds through the house.

A moment later Harry emerges with a big grin on his face. “Dinna mean to disturb ye,” he says, making Zayn pull away from Liam even though they had not been doing anything remotely scandalous. “Nicola sent me here to tell ye that ye can return home if ye’d like. She said ye would be here ‘cause when ye were bairns, ye would always hide off at Eoghan’s when it was time for a whupping.”

Liam huffs out a laugh as he turns and slides an arm over Zayn’s shoulders to keep him close. “Aye. No a good idea on my part. Eoghan’s da was like my own.”

When they return home, Nicola greets Liam with a slap against the chest and a big hug, Ial sniffing excitedly at his legs. Zayn scoops Little Liam into his arms so Ial’s wagging tail doesn’t knock him over.

“What did your ma make for dinner? Anything good?”

Little Liam doesn’t ever talk to him, only stares back at him. Zayn attempts to put him down, but he grabs onto Zayn’s shirt in protest.

“I cannot tell if you are looking at me in wonder or fear,” Zayn hums as he rocks Little Liam up and down gently. There is no change of expression. “Or maybe that is your poop face.”

A wrinkle appears over the bridge of Little Liam’s nose, his eyes sparkling, but he doesn’t laugh.

Big Liam presses against his chest to Zayn’s back, reaching over his shoulder to boop the little one’s nose. “He likes ye verra much, Sassenach. Will no let me hold him, and he is my name sake.”

Liam presses a kiss to the side of his neck as he whispers something in Gaelic.

“What did you say?” Zayn murmurs, turning his head over his shoulder to find Liam’s lips pressing against his own.

“Ye will make a verra good father, my love.”

*

“What do ye think of Paris?” Liam asks, his chin tilted towards the ceiling, exposing the length of his neck so Zayn can circle the long, thin cloth around the base of his throat, hiding the mouth shaped bruises beneath it. The sun is still rising, casting a warm glow into their bedroom that makes Liam appear to be made of gold.

“It is lovely,” Zayn tells him, as he ties it into a knot like Bridgette had done for him before. “I took Waliyha there for her eighteenth birthday. She always wanted to see the city.”

“Would ye like to go? I have a cousin there, in the whiskey business, ye ken.”

Zayn smoothes his hands down Liam’s white shirt before he turns to find Liam’s jacket. It is a thick, tough material, but Zayn is not confident it is going to keep Liam from getting cold. “Like a proper honeymoon?”

Liam’s brow curves upward in confusion as he slides his arm into the jacket. Zayn waves him off. “I would like that.”

“Harry can come too if ye like. He seems verra happy here though,” Liam goes on, his hands sliding over Zayn’s bare arms as Zayn buttons him up.

“Can I ask you something?” Zayn asks, as he steps back to admire Liam. He has not had a chance yet to bring it up to Liam, but he thinks about it often after he falls asleep. He dreams of them at times, even dreams of his own mother stepping through the stones. “What is the Lady of the Stones?”

Liam looks taken aback by this. He turns away from Zayn to look at himself in the mirror, but from behind him Zayn can see the way his eyebrows push tightly together in the reflection.

“It is a ballad of a woman who had emerged through the stones of Craigh na Dun,” Liam explains softly. “A woman who talked of a different time. A different time where her lover was and she sought to return to him.”

“What happened to her?” Zayn asks, leaning against the endboard of the bed. _A different time_. There are tales of the same thing that happened to him. Maybe someone else knows. Maybe that Tomlinson man really is from the stones.

Liam faces him again, lips pouted in thought. “She returned to him. No one likes a sad ending to a love story, Sassenach. But it does differ between who is telling it. There are songs about lost lovers searching for each other for hundreds of years, stepping through the stones in their search but never finding each other. There is one where the woman stepped through the stones and never returned home after falling in love with a woman of another time. That is Harry’s favorite.”

Liam reaches for him, and out of habit Zayn holds his hand out to him. Liam turns it over to press a kiss to his palm. “They are just ballads, Sassenach. Why do ye ask?”

“Harry says people think Tomlinson is from the stones. A fairy.”

Liam’s lips linger across his sensitive skin for a long moment. “I dinna ken about fairies, Zayn. I do believe there are truth in tales.”

When he looks back at Zayn, his eyes are burning with something he cannot read. His heart skips a beat as he wonders if Liam knows what he is thinking. If Liam is thinking like the other men had, about Zayn being a fairy from the stones as well. He isn’t a fairy, but it is close enough to the truth.

“Why are ye thinking about Tomlinson, Sassenach?”

“Harry mentioning the stones made me think of the first time I saw you,” Zayn half lies as Liam closes in on him, trapping his hips to the bed frame. If he is not mistaken, relief crosses over Liam’s face.

“The men thought ye a fairy,” Liam admits quietly. “They are said to be the most beautiful creature on Earth. And I swear it, Sassenach, that is true about you. But if ye are a Lady of the Stone, I prefer the ending that has ye with me.”

Zayn bites his tongue as Liam searches his face. It is right there at the tip. He can blurt it out, tell Liam the truth. And Liam can go and run his errands, think about it, and return to him with whatever his response might be. He just has to say the words, out loud, for the first time.

He vowed the truth to Liam, and now he is suffocating in a lie. He cannot say the words, even though Liam has given him the best opportunity to do so. What if he thinks Zayn is just playing along? That may make it easier.

“I will no be long,” Liam says suddenly, tapping a finger under Zayn’s chin. “I love ye, fairy or no.”

Zayn lets out a shaky breath as he nods. He will tell Liam tonight when he returns. He will. He has to. “I love you too, Liam.”

After he dresses himself, Zayn searches for Harry. He can hear the distant sound of little Geoffrey crying somewhere. Nicola is by the front door, saying a quick goodbye to her husband before scurrying off to take her newborn son from Catriona.

Eoghan nods his way and Liam pinches his chin fondly before following after his brother in law once he is able to pull Little Liam from clinging to his leg. Little Liam is beside Zayn’s in an instant, and he drags his fingers through his thick hair to drag his attention away from his father.

“Little Lord, would you be so kind as to help me find my tall friend?” Zayn asks. He motions to his head. “Lots of curlies in the morning.”

The boy does not speak, as always, but he nods and takes Zayn’s finger to lead him into the kitchen. It is empty save for Harry, but there are bowls and food spread out across every surface.

“Eoghan’s leg swells after a long ride, Nicola said. Ye think ye can make somethin’ to help with it?” Harry asks, barely looking at Zayn as he joins him. His arms are elbow deep in a bowl. “There are herbs on the counter there. Picked some this morning.”

“Have you slept?” Zayn asks, padding over to the counter Harry speaks of. There are enough herbs to hopefully come up with something to reduce swelling. Unless Harry wants to go fetch some leeches.

“No. I canna. I am returning to Castle Leoch,” Harry announces. His hands are covered in flour from kneading the dough in the tall bowl, and there are streaks of flour coating his face as if he had been wiping his hands there.

“What?” Zayn blurts. He drops the chopping knife almost as soon as he picks it up.

“There is something Niall knows of his brother. He threatened to speak of it to as many people who would listen if he caused me harm. I am to leave soon. Paddy is to return to Lallybroch, I think by nightfall or daybreak tomorrow.”

Harry’s face falls as he stares at Zayn. He points a flour covered finger at him. “Ye ken it?”

Zayn settles against the counter guiltily, forgetting the herbs. “Liam told me not to speak of it. But he was not the one who told me. I overheard Niall and Gregory talking about Niall giving him another heir.”

Harry sighs before returning to the dough. “If he speaks of it, it would leave Niall as the next leader of Castle Leoch if Liam does not fight him on it. They are both in line, but I think the Clan would prefer Liam if they had a choice.”

Zayn spots Liam out the window, climbing onto the back of a horse with Eoghan beside him. Zayn’s medical bag needed restocking and he had insisted Liam needn’t go but he had married a man more stubborn than an ox.

“Why?” Zayn asks.

“His support of Prince Charles,” Harry explains quietly. “The men are weary about being led into a war they may not win.”

“They will not win,” Zayn corrects, without thinking, causing Harry to frown at him as he lifts the dough from the bowl and onto the counter beside him.

“And why do ye say that?”

Zayn curses at himself mentally. “There have been Uprisings before. Scotland has never won.”

Harry looks at him for a long moment before he sighs. “I have told him that a thousand times over. He doesna listen.”

“Stubbornness must run in the Horan blood,” Zayn mutters, as he looks out the window at Liam’s disappearing form.

Harry huffs out a laugh. “They are much alike if ye can believe it.”

“I can. I know there must be some reason for you to love him the way you do. Even if I do not see it.”

“Aye,” Harry whispers, suddenly lost in thought. “He is verra kind to me. Doesna care what I have, only cares about that I am safe and that I am his. He doesna like being aggressive but he has to.”

Zayn thinks of the way Liam has grabbed Niall, the way he had threatened Rupert all those weeks ago, before they were even married. It was a different Liam than he had been used to seeing. It could be the same for Harry and Niall.

“Especially with a brother like that.”

“Aye,” Harry hums distractedly. “There is no a kind bone in the body of that man.”

He takes to crushing up the herbs and placing them into a bowl to mix, working in silence with Harry. He does not want Harry to leave him, or to return to somewhere he is not safe, but he does not want to kill the eagerness on his face either.

If Zayn goes to Paris, and Harry back to Castle Leoch, he doesn’t know when he will see his friend again. If he ever will. Liam does not seem too keen on returning to his cousins’ home.

“Can I tell you something, Harry? You cannot tell anyone. I have not even told Liam yet. I want to, I just do not know how.”

An unsure look crosses Harry’s face as he moves the bowl of rising bread to the table, and picks up another pan of dough. “Ye can tell me anything ye please, Zayn, and I swear I will no repeat it. But isna good to keep secrets from yer husband.”

Zayn grins nervously. “I am going to tell him tonight, I just need practice.”

Harry huffs out a laugh before jumping onto the counter to rest his bottom there. Zayn stops his work and stares back at Harry. He is less nervous about telling Harry, but now that he is going to, those nerves suddenly swallow him up.

“I was in Scotland looking for my family,” Zayn starts, and Harry nods to tell him he remembers, “In the year nineteen hundred and ninety six.”

Harry just stares at him still, nothing crossing his expression. Nothing. It helps Zayn keep speaking, but he wishes something would show on his face.

“When you found me at the stones, it is because I had came through them - I think, I am not exactly sure what happened. I just know one moment it was spring, and the next it was summer two hundred and fifty years in the past. But I am not a fairy,” Zayn blurts out quickly, hoping Harry can understand with how quickly he speaks. “I have no magical powers. I just know answers because there have been years of things learned about the world between this year and my year.”

Harry still continues to stare at him before Zayn finally lets out a frustrated noise. “I am from the future, Harry.”

“The future?” Harry asks, as if he is confused by the word. “It is no verra funny, Zayn.”

“I am not joking.”

Harry jumps from the table and grabs Zayn’s cheeks between his hands. He looks at him like he has never seen him before. “Is that why ye are so strange?”

An offended laugh bubbles between Zayn’s lips. “I am not strange.”

Harry ignores this, his eyes growing wider and wider by the moment. “The future? I dinna believe it. I ken now why ye havena told Liam. He will think ye have gone mad. I am no positive that ye havena.”

Zayn’s heart sinks in his chest. He wanted a response, but this is the worst one Zayn could have been given. “It is the truth though. I vowed the truth so I have to tell him.”

“The future!” Harry exclaims, followed by another laugh that bends his body backwards. Excitement is written on his face. “Ye dinna leave a lover behind, did ye? Is that why it is so hard for ye to tell Liam?”

“No,” Zayn replies quietly, “But if I ever go home, I will be.”

The amusement slips quickly away from Harry’s expression. “Ye canna go back! What if ye canna return? Are ye thinkin’ of goin’ back? Och, Zayn, dinna tell me that!”

Zayn returns to the herbs he had left in the bowl, just something to do with his trembling fingers. “I do not plan on going back any time soon. But I will have to. My sisters are there.”

It falls quiet, save for the echoing sound of Harry pacing around the kitchen and the snap of the knife Zayn holds hitting the bowl.

“That is a dilemma,” Harry finally says, settling his back against the counter next to Zayn. “What is the future like? Can people fly like birds?”

Zayn bites at his grin. “Well, kind of.”

Excitement takes over Harry’s face but it disappears instantly. He grabs Zayn’s arm tightly, pulling his hand away from the bowl of herbs.

“If yer from the future then ye ken what will happen if there is another uprising? That is why you told me?”

Zayn chews at his bottom lip. “I said they do not win, Harry. But you cannot tell Niall where I am from. I do not trust him with that truth.”

Harry turns from him to chew on his thumb nail. “I will no tell him, ye have my word. I want to tell him the truth of the uprising, but I ken it well he will no believe it. Ye are sure, Zayn? Scotland does not win?”

Harry flips around to stare at Zayn. There is clear worry in his eyes, and guilt fills Zayn that he ruined the excitement that had been on Harry’s face just a moment ago.

“I am sure.”

Harry sighs, falling into one of the chairs lining the wall of the kitchen. “It is time for me to be more involved with the political talk,” he groans. “Sabotage his plans somehow.”

Zayn doesn’t respond. He does not know how to tell Harry that he does not believe that attempts to change the future will be successful.

*

Zayn sits with Little Liam as he plays with his wooden toys. He does not interact with Zayn much, but every time Zayn moves the boy gets up and follows him, even if it is only a few feet across the room.

He prefers the silence as he sits with the aftermath of telling Harry the truth. They stopped talking about it after discussing the uprisings, but he could tell Harry was still thinking about it. He was too. He has not been able to stop thinking about how Liam may react, or if he too will think it possible to stop the Uprisings.

Maybe it _is_ possible. It is too confusing for Zayn to know. Liam would known better. He is sure Liam knows more about the strategies of war than him and Harry do.

The sound of horse hooves has him running to the window with an eagerness to see his husband, Little Liam at his feet. He had not expected Liam and Eoghan to be gone for so long, but when the sky started to darken he had grown worried and anxious. As much as he dreads having the conversation with Liam, he craves the other man’s touch.

Zayn’s heart sinks as he sees one horse trotting down the dirt path. The dark sky allows him only to see the shape of the man descending from the horse, but the limp in his walk and the smaller outline of his body has him running to the front door.

“I apologize, Zayn,” Eoghan blurts as Nicola rushes past Zayn to grab for him. “The Guards took Liam. I tried to stop them but there were at least a dozen of them. I canna barely walk let alone fight off ten men.”

Time seems to still around Zayn as the words flow through his mind. He struggles to make sense of them through the growing panic.

“What did you say?”

Eoghan face breaks but it is Nicola that grabs him. “Ye will take a horse, and Harry. I can draw ye a map if ye like, it is verra simple.”

Harry is already moving past him, headed towards the stables to prepare the horses. His arms are full of cloth like he had grabbed everything off of the coat rack by the door.

“Ye will follow the path to the edge of Lallybroch. They will no be far. I made haste to return with the news. They will take him to the closest British safe house.”

Zayn focuses on the directions as Nicola and Eoghan go back and forth with him. He pleads with his mind to remember them as his panic grows. He considers asking for a map, but he is afraid of wasting too much time.

“Ye need to get my brother,” Nicola says, grabbing him roughly. “I canna lose him.”

“I will. I will not let him be lashed again, I swear it to you,” Zayn promises, clutching her arms.

Nicola lets out a wounded sound, her eyes filling with tears. “He escaped prison, brother. They will no only lash him.”

Zayn stares at her mouth, wondering if she is speaking Gaelic through her tears because he cannot seem to understand her words. His mind will not process them, no matter how hard he focuses.

“They will be likely to hang him.”

There is no goodbye as Zayn runs for the stables, his boots hitting the wet ground so hard he feels it in his knee caps. There is no fear of the horses as he climbs onto it’s back and commands it to take off. He does not look for Harry behind him, but only ahead at the pathway that Eoghan told him to take to find his husband.

The sky is dark, making the path hard to see. He thinks of things he does not want to, like being small and staring out of the day care window, at the long stretch of road ahead and waiting for his parents’ dark blue van that never came.

He remembers his daycare provider, Caroline, on the phone. The way his gut had felt every time she looked at him. He does not remember her words, only the grief that had followed.

Waliyha’s wails of sorrow echo in his mind, Safaa’s chant of _Baba, Baba_ , how scary it had been when they returned to their home with a social worker to pick up Zayn’s bag for school the next day. He cannot focus on what Harry says to him as they ride, but his body moves to guide his horse to follow Harry’s.

“We have to stop! Zayn! Stop!”

Zayn grunts out to his horse, tugging on its reins until the horse slows to a trot. Alarm is on Harry’s face as he leads them into a thicker patch of woods.

He does not know where they are, but he has a trust that Harry does. Even if there is an anger building inside of him that Harry made them stop.

“We cannot afford to stop,” Zayn snaps as he holds an arm in front of his face to shove away the low hanging branches that scratch at his cheeks.

Harry hushes him with a finger to his lips. He does not know how long they have been riding but his back starts to ache now that they have stopped.

Harry curls both hands around his mouth before calling out a bird sound. It echoes loudly through the trees.

A moment later, Zayn hears the movement behind the trees. He tenses, his body trembling from the cold. Thankfully Harry had brought a blanket, but Zayn had insisted Harry wear it instead. Neither one of them thought to bring food and his belly tightens with hunger.

A grungy man with hunched shoulders and a rugged red beard steps out in front of them. Zayn does not move but Harry jumps from his horse to approach him.

His hair is long past his shoulders and his beard tickles his belly. Zayn watches his hands move in front of him, but nothing passes his lips except for a few grunts here and there.

When Harry starts to speak in Gaelic, his hands also moving in front of him, Zayn realizes they are speaking sign language. Zayn cannot speak either, so he sits on top of his horse and tries to ignore his growing impatience.

“Wentworth?” Harry blurts suddenly. “Surely the Guard will have stopped long before Wentworth. They will no ride through the night.”

The man says something that has Harry sighing and clapping him on the shoulder. “Thank ye, Hugh. Head to the inn and tell the men to meet me. Niall will know where.”

Zayn slides from his horse then, the dying leaves and sticks snapping under his boots. Up close, he can see the man Harry speaks to, Hugh, has eyes like Liam’s.

“Niall? What are you going on about?”

Hugh bows as he approaches, a hand out stretched towards him.

“Hugh, Lord Payne of Broch Turach,” Harry introduces. “Zayn, Hugh. A friend. He followed the Guard when he saw they had Liam but he canna venture too far alone. He has no horse, and canna ride well.”

“It is nice to meet you,” Zayn says, gripping the man’s hand firmly so he understands.

“He says the Guard handed Liam over to the British only an hour ago. Headed to Wentworth Prison. We are no too far behind.”

Hugh stays bent forward until Zayn presses a gentle hand to his elbow to help guide him up.

“We need men if we are walking into Wentworth and pulling Liam out.”

Zayn looks at the determined set of Harry’s face and he suddenly wants to kiss him on the cheek. His heart swells in his chest, mixing in with the panic that has already taken residence there. Zayn had not needed to ask Harry to help him break Liam out of a prison, Harry is just ready to do so.

“Niall,” Zayn clarifies.

Harry nods, pointing east. “Hugh says they are stopped at an inn this way. Towards Lallybroch to bring me home, I ken it.”

Zayn nods before bowing to Hugh. “Thank you, but we must go.”

*

Zayn and Harry ride well into the night. His body strums with energy, keeping away exhaustion. The sun is just starting to peek over the horizon when Harry signals for him to stop again.

He wants to keep riding, but the logical part of his brain tells him he can’t go anywhere by himself. He doesn’t know Scotland that well and he has no idea where Wentworthis located. Or what to do once he gets there. They have not spotted any soldiers, but Harry assures him that they are around.

Harry ties his horse to a tree before dipping his head under low branches. Zayn follows until he sees the small cave Harry is leading him into.

“What is this?” Zayn whispers, his voice quieter than his clatter of teeth.

“A cave,” Harry answers. “We can build a fire without being noticed. This is where Niall will meet us before we make way to Griffin’s. I dinna ken Griffin well enough to bring you alone.”

“Who is Griffin?”

“A friend of Liam’s. He lives close to the prison. Helped us round up cattle the day we found ye by yer stones,” Harry says. In the dark of the cave, he is nothing more but a shadow that Zayn tries to follow. He trips a few times, and collides into Harry, who is closer than he had thought.

“Put on this until I start the fire,” Harry says, his voice to his right. Fabric is shoved into his hands and after a moment of feeling it, he realizes it is the wool blanket he had been wearing around his shoulders as they rode.

“I cannot wear this,” Zayn says as he attempts to shove it back at Harry, but he finds nothing but empty space.

“I dinna ken how it works in yer time, Zayn, but it is no right for a servant to let a lord go cold while they are warm. The shivering of your teeth is so loud it echoes off the cave walls.”

Zayn sighs in defeat but he does not wrap the kilt around himself. He clings to it instead, resting against the hard cave wall as he listens for Harry’s footsteps.

The sudden silence is heavy around him. Thoughts he had pushed from focus come back full force as he stands there. The idea of Liam being lashed again had been terrifying, but now a _hanging_?

Tears fill his eyes and his stomach twists painfully. His heart thrums in his ears and he clutches onto the blanket until he feels his arms could break from the force of it.

“Rest until the men get here,” Harry’s voice interrupts the silence suddenly. It only takes a few moments before a dark glow is lighting the cave walls.

“I do not think I can,” Zayn says as he kneels before the fire. He hands Harry his blanket back before holding his open palms in front of the flame.

“Nothing will happen to him,” Harry assures him, but he looks uncertain himself.

They wait in silence for the Horan men. Each second feels like an hour and Zayn paces impatiently until Harry reaches for him and tugs him into his side. Zayn wraps the blanket around the both of them until the heat building under the woolen material traps in the warmth their bodies produce and their shivering stops.

“Can ye hear it?” Harry suddenly whispers, nudging his chin towards the entrance of the cave. Zayn listens, focusing on his ears as if that will heighten his senses until he hears the sound of a bird call.

Harry closes a hand around his mouth and lets out the same sweet song. Moments later, heavy footsteps echo through the cave and a reddened face appears before them.

Niall’s face is angrier than Zayn has ever seen it before, even angrier than when Niall threatened him in the villages. Melting snow clings to his dark hair and the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He does not say a word as he sits across from them and places his palms in front of the fire.

“Canoodling in a cave,” Niall grunts with a hint of amusement. Harry starts to pull away but Zayn clings onto the blanket to stop him. There is a stirring of noise outside, but Niall waves his worried look off. “Paddy, Rupert, Paul, and Ned are out there keeping watch.”

“He is in Wentworth prison,” Harry explains.

“I ken it,” Niall sighs. “His execution is scheduled for the morning.”

“The morning!” Zayn exclaims, jumping from where he sits. Harry reaches for him, but he shakes the grip away. “What are we doing around here, then?”

Niall’s face is soft despite the anger in his eyes. “We canna do anything, Zayn. We canna get him out of a heavily guarded prison. I am no willing to risk the life of my men and Liam wouldna ask them to!”

A manic noise passes Zayn’s lips. “You know well that Liam would risk his life for any one of those men!” Zayn reminds him angrily. “He would risk his life for you and you are a bastard!”

Harry says his name brokenly, but both Niall and Zayn ignore him. Niall stands so he is facing Zayn, the flicker of flame casting shadows across his face.

“I will no stand in the way of my men if they want to help,” Niall assures him. “But I will no give the order either.”

Zayn crosses his arms over his shoulders, breathing heavily. The chilly air makes each inhale sharp and each exhale visible. “You will not help?”

Niall glances at Harry in frustration. “I canna -”

“You owe me a life,” Zayn interrupts. He feels guilty about shoving that in Niall’s face after he insisted Niall did not owe him anything, but he feels desperate. “Remember your vow?”

Niall’s lips press tightly together, his jaw tensing. He glares at Zayn for a long moment without word.

“Come on Harry,” Niall says to his lover before reaching out to him. “We will ride to Griffin’s tonight, discuss the layout of the prison and storm Wentworth tomorrow.” Harry takes Niall’s hand before turning to Zayn. “I canna promise that we will be successful, but I can vow I will die trying.”

*

The walls surrounding the courtyard seem massive, but at the same time, they are closing in on him. His breath is stuck in his lungs, his body so tense he feels as if his muscles could snap in half. There is an ache between his shoulders and his arms hurt from being tied behind his back, the lines of rope still imprinted around his wrists.

Screams and last minute prayers echo off the walls. Liam watches as each man hangs, the cluster of criminals around him growing smaller and smaller by the minute.

Liam does not have a last minute prayer to say himself. He knew he would be caught again sometime. There had been times where he wondered what his last thought would be before his end. What memory would be the last thing he thinks about?

He knew he would get tired of not being able to return home. He did not want to get his hopes up about the Duke helping them. He knew there would be a time that he would be okay with facing his punishment, but that was before his heart jumped from his body and became a man he never intended on loving.

It is not his face that he thinks about, but his older brother’s. _Willie._ It has been so long, he can barely remember what he looked like when he laughed. His mouth fell open and his eyes squeezed shut every time, regardless of how hard he laughed. He pictures his own face and the face in his mother’s paintings.

His heart tugs with sadness as he watches the thick rope touch soft skin. He does not remember his brother’s face.

“It is quick,” a man from his left says. There is concern in his eyes. Liam has spotted him a few times since he had arrived. His clothes are nearly black with grime, his hair gritty and greasy from years without bathing. “Dinna fash, lad.”

“I canna remember my brother’s face,” Liam explains quietly. He flinches as the man falls. He closes his eyes, not wanting his last thought to be about a man he does not know in his own last moments. “And it is safer thinking about his face than my husband’s. I ken how to live without Willie. I dinna ken how to live without Zayn.”

The man takes Liam’s hand into his own, squeezing it gently. “Ye will be reunited with yer brother lad, and one day, yer husband as well.”

“Liam James Geoffrey Payne!”

The man does not let go of his hand, and Liam grips onto him harder. Since the guards had taken him from Eoghan, he had accepted that he was going to die soon. He did - he thought he had.

Liam struggles against the hands gripping at his biceps. Panic washes through him, choking him. He has always been strong, but these guards are stronger. They grunt in his ear telling him to be quiet.

The executioner stares at him, a patient look on his face. Liam wonders how many people he has put to their death in his lifetime. One must become impassive to it after awhile.

“It is easier if you do not struggle,” the executioner says, his voice gravelly. “Easier for me, quicker for you.”

Liam knows this, but his mind and body do not agree as Liam tries to tell himself to remain calm. He jerks away as the executioner holds out the circled rope. He grunts out in frustration and one of the soldiers holding him grabs his hair to keep him still.

It hangs loose around his neck. He stares at the small crowd staring up at him. He has no last prayer, he does not think of Willie’s face now. It is Zayn on the back of his eyelids.

He feels like his heart is splitting in two. He is thankful he had told Zayn how he felt, that he finally said he loved you, but suddenly he thinks _I love you_ is not enough. He should have said more. He should have told him how his father told him to never give himself to another person unless it felt right, that his mother had refused to be with anyone unless her heart felt for them.

He should have told Zayn how much his mother and father would have loved him. He should have been honest about wanting to raise a bairn. It is true that he does not need a heir of his own, but he should have told Zayn how often he thinks about raising a bairn with him.

Liam does not have a prayer, but he whispers all the things he wishes he could have said to Zayn as the guards move him closer to the edge.

“Stop! Stop! Release that man!”

Relief does not fill Liam as he eyes the man riding into the middle of the court yard. Liam considers jumping from the podium himself instead of being around their new visitor.

Captain Malik stares at him from the back of his horse.  Rage pours off of him as he shouts at the executioner. “I am here on King’s business. Release the prisoner from the rope, and place him into a cell.”

A look of relief crosses Malik’s face as the executioner finally pulls the rope from around Liam’s neck. Liam stares at the Captain as the soldiers drag him off the podium and past him. He does not let his head hang until he is guided into the dark corridor of the prison.

He hits the cell ground hard when the soldiers shove him in. He does not struggle when they clasp thick metal bands around his wrists. Shackles, connected to the ground.

“Lucky you, savage. How did you get under the Captain’s good graces? He must fancy ye a bit. Not bad looking, but Highlander scum is not really my type.”

The soldier is so close to his face that Liam can feel his hot breath against his cheek. Liam does not speak in response but spits, earning a hard hit against his cheekbone.

The soldier pads out of the room with a cackle, leaving Liam in the darkness. His face burns and throbs, his belly pained with hunger.

Liam stares up at the stone ceiling, wishing it was open so he could see the stars shaped like Zayn’s face. There is a stream of light from a window higher above, but too from the ground that he cannot see out of it.

The cell is cold and damp smelling. He had not been shackled the last time he was here, but that was because he had been too injured to do much more than lay on the ground. It worked to his advantage last time, but he cannot do much now with the shackles.

The metal door opens with a loud creak but Liam does not flinch nor look from the ceiling. He knows who it is without looking. He can practically smell the disgust coming off of him.

“Mister Payne. Oh how I have longed to see your face again.”

Liam thinks of Zayn’s face, brought on by his own longing. He hopes Zayn is not too upset. He had told him about it, hoping he would expect it to happen some day.

Well, he had not told him the truth. Not all of it. The price on his head is for more than just stealing, but he could not bare for Zayn to think he had ever murdered a man. He had been wrongfully accused, but he never wanted Zayn to even _consider_ it being a truth.

“You will look at me when I am speaking to you!”

Liam’s body clenches forward at the sudden pain erupting from his left hand. His body shakes with it, but his lips press tightly together to keep the wounded noise in his chest from sounding out.

Malik grinds his boot down onto Liam’s fingers until Liam finally looks at him, tears building in his eyes. He releases his fingers, only to crouch down so their eyes are level.

“Did you think you could run forever?” Malik breathes as he presses a finger under Liam’s chin. A pulse of pain erupts through Liam’s swollen cheek. He had not intended to fight off the Guard. Reasonably there had been too many for him to attempt, but he had thought of Zayn and his body started moving as if controlled by someone else.

“I wasna running,” Liam utters, “I was under yer nose the whole time.”

The Captain’s nostrils flare as he presses harder against Liam’s chin. “Staring a family! Married! I heard. To a Malik nonetheless. Oh _you_ have not noticed? I think the resemblance is striking.”

Despite his inner warnings, Liam takes in the Captain’s face. The same sharp jaw, the same dark eyelashes. Minor similarities, really. He cannot see Zayn’s face on a man who looks so cold.

When Liam does not respond, the Captain grabs his aching face roughly. “It will be Zayn’s face you see when my whip comes down.”

Liam slumps back against the cold wall when the Captain releases him, his mind trying its hardest to think of anything but Zayn now. Even thinking of his brother again lasts only a few seconds before his face turns into Zayn’s.

The Captain reaches for his belt, his dark eyes glaring at Liam. “Stand. I have had your execution pushed off for two days and you will not rest easy while you wait for your end.”

Liam does not see a reason to fight it as he stands with weak legs. He cannot fight much anyway with his hands shackled, and any attempt to will only bring the belt down more ruthlessly against his skin. He rather that than hear Zayn’s name come out of the Captain’s mouth again.

*

Griffin’s house is a small cottage on an open field. Zayn and the men of Clan Horan arrive just as the sun is starting to break into the sky. Knowing how close they are to the prison, Zayn wants to keep on riding until they get there, but needing a plan, he finds himself trucking his wet boots into the cottage behind Niall.

Griffin is kinder at first than any of the other soldiers Zayn has met. There is a warm smile on his face as he takes Zayn’s hand into his own.

“Zayn Payne of Broch Turach,” Zayn introduces. Griffin’s eyebrows raise high to his hairline.

“Ye wedded the young lord then?” he asks. He grips Zayn’s hand harder before bowing his head. “I owe that man a lot more than just m’life.”

“Does that mean I can count on yer assistance?”

“Aye,” Griffin says with a firm voice. He releases Zayn’s hand before waving him to follow after him. “I worked in the prison for some years. I hadna seen Liam since we were bairns until I found him there.”

Zayn’s stomach twists again. He does not want to know what it was like for Liam because he is not sure that he can handle it at the moment, but he lets Griffin talk without interruption. He has seen the scars, he has a good enough idea of what Liam had gone through, but hearing it again while he is back at the prison makes his knees feel weak.

“The guards dinna like me much. Soldiers for the British Army, ye ken, thought me nothin’ more than a savage Highlander. I worked as a translator. I saw Liam in the courtyard once, and then the soldiers said he suddenly stopped speaking English so he had to come to me. I had ne’er seen a prisoner beaten as badly as him.”

Griffin leads him into a small library. He moves books from a high shelf before producing a rolled up piece of parchment that he places on a table in front of him. “He could walk, he could use his hands, and he wasna shackled. The guards are no going to make that same mistake again.”

The piece of parchment contains a square shaped layout of the prison. Zayn watches as Griffin’s fingers trace the different corridors. In the middle is a courtyard he explains, where the prisoners are executed.

“Those on waiting to meet their maker are held in the back, aye?” Niall says from over his shoulder before he reaches and stabs a finger against the rear end of the building.

“Aye,” Griffin grunts. “Liam has to be there. They will no move him to the courtyard until it is ready for the executions. Ye should have time depending on how many there are. They never truly start executions in the morning. They say that to put fear into the prisoners. Ye should have until the evening, shortly before supper.”

Niall cusses in Gaelic. “We have to get him out in daylight, when the prison is full of British soldiers?”

There is a grim look on Griffin’s face as he flicks his eyes from Zayn to Niall. “Aye. Ye only have a few to find him, get him out and away from the castle. He is goin’ to be guarded well since he escaped last time. Ye are no afraid of a bunch of redcoats are ye now, Horan?”

Niall holds up a hand, cutting off Griffin before he can say more. “Zayn can get into the Warden’s office. The soldiers will no suspect a British man. As long as Malik isna there, no one will no yer a man of Clan Horan.”

Zayn does not correct him and tell him that he is not. Liam had not sworn loyalty to the Clan, and neither would Zayn. “Could Malik be there?” Zayn asks in horror instead.

“I dinna ken,” Niall grumbles, rubbing at the stubble that is staring to grow around his jaw. “I wouldna be surprised if that bastard found Liam with little time.”

Zayn swallows the bile rising in his throat. “Harry can escort me. We can say we are there for the Duke or someone, needing information on a prisoner. We can find a way to stall the execution.”

“Aye, but ye will no be taking Harry with ye. He stays here.”

Hunger and exhaustion get the best of him as Zayn lets out a manic laugh. “I do not think you could keep Harry here if you tied him to a chair.”

Niall exhales heavily, his nostrils flaring. “Aye, yer right. But he will remain with the men. I will go with you.”

“Ye will be recognized!” Griffin snaps.

Niall sighs in frustration as he slams his fist down on the table. “We dinna have time to find a plan with no difficulties, Griff! We are breaking into a prison and kidnapping a man these soldiers have tirelessly looked for! It is no going to be easy!”

There is a cough behind them and Zayn turns to find a boy about sixteen, his skin as dark as Griff’s. There is the same kind smile on his lips but his eyes are hesitant. “I dinna mean to interrupt, brother, but we have a small problem.”

Griff walks around the table. “What is it now, Fergus?”

The young boy rolls his hands in front of himself. “Ye ken we were supposed to round up forty cattle?”

Griff’s arms cross in front of his chest. Zayn shakes with impatience until Niall shakes his head to tell him to stay quiet. There is mischief in his eyes.

“Well, I dinna have forty.”

“How many, Ferg?”

The young boy inhales deeply before he speaks, his words spoken so quickly that they are hard to understand. “Only four, brother. We were comin’ up the hill with ‘em when they came out of nowhere. Some Highlanders, I dinna ken who they are. Their leader was verra tall with these brown curls flyin’ everywhere. He had no colors but a man behind him wore the emblem of um, Clan, um Horan.”

Griffin turns slowly, his eyes already narrowed before landing on Niall. “Did yer men steal my cattle?”

Niall shrugs with innocence. “If they did, it was no because of any order of mine.”

“What is this about?” Griffin snaps angrily. “I am helping ye, welcoming ye into my home and ye steal from me?”

Niall shakes his head, holding a hand up to quiet him again but Zayn notices how the other hand lands on his belt where his dirk is hidden. “We will return the cattle with interest. Ye have my word and the word of Laird Gregory Horan. I ken that Liam will pay ye heavily as well.”

“What do you need with cattle?” Zayn interrupts.

Niall shrugs, a lazy grin taking over his lips. “I dinna ken. It is Harry that needs them. He is the mastermind, he just doesna like to take credit.”

Griffin grunts a noise of disapproval before turning to shoo Fergus out of the room. He does not move though, but his eyes grow more hesitant and worried.

“What else is it, Ferg?”

Fergus’ lips part a few times before he speaks, and when he does, Zayn is not sure what language it is. He does not understand the words that pass his lips, but his knees finally give out from underneath him.

“Angus saw a group of British soldiers on the way to the prison just a few hours ago. After the ones we saw with the young Lord. This one was led by Captain Malik.”

He can feel Niall grabbing for him as the world spins around him. His ears feel like they have stuffing in them, muffling the shouts behind him before everything goes black.

*

The stone wall is cold, contrasting with the burning heat of his back side. He leans his cheek into it, trying to breathe in the earthy scent of dirt. It is better than the rust smell of blood that fills his nose.

The sound of heavy footsteps echo through the room. The man says something but Liam has trained his mind not to process any of the noise surrounding him. The Captain has said Zayn’s name too many times for his liking and the building rage inside of him is making it difficult not to struggle against his restraints. They bite into his wrists, making the skin there raw and burning, every time he does.

The Captain’s touch switches between rough and angry to soft and delicate. He hates the latter more. It makes his stomach threaten to burst through his mouth.

Liam’s teeth grit as his tries to clutch at the stone wall, but his fingers slip. The pain is so great that he cannot even feel the sting of the belt any longer. He knows the fingers of his left hand are broken from Malik stomping on them. He can barely feel anything but throbbing pain coming from them, and when he tries to move them they remain still and twisted grotesquely.

He had lost consciousness the last time, losing count of how many times the whip slashed against his skin. Seeing his father’s face in the crowd had made his legs give out.

“What a man,” Liam grits out. His arms shake as he tries to keep himself from slumping onto the wall. “Fighting another man on his knees with his hands shackled to the ground.”

He cannot keep the fire inside of him at bay any longer. It rips through his veins and strengthens his limbs. The image of Zayn’s face at the back of his eye lids keep his legs sturdy enough to lift himself.

“You can sit, if you prefer to..”

The world spins around him as he turns to face the Captain. He feels drunk, his sight hazy. He lifts an arm to fight back, the small discomfort he usually feels in his shoulder since he dislocated it minimal to the feeling in the rest of his body. He is closer than Liam had expected, only a few inches away. The Captain drags a gentle finger across his jaw before bringing down his other arm harshly.

He is aware of the snap more so than he is of the belt touching his body. He falls and he cannot help but cry out as his crushed hand slams hard into the ground. Pain rips up his arm and into the rest of his body. There is not one part of him that does not feel as it is shattering from the pulse of pain in his hand.

Fingers in his hair drag his head back but Liam struggles to focus. He stares back at the face for a moment, wondering if this is the face he is going to see in his last seconds. The eyes are wrong, shaped different, but it is him - definitely him. He came to save him, even though his touch stings and burns.

“Zayn,” he breathes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback, as always, is appreciated. Love you guys thank you for always making me feel good about my writing <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder of the violence warning in this chapter.

The brick and stone building stretches high into the stormy sky. From far, Zayn had been surprised by its small size, but up close, the short four stories seem to tower intimidatingly over him.

Liam is in there, he thinks. There is a want to call out for him as he eyes the square holes in the sides as if Liam were Rapunzel. He wants to take off running and search every cell until he finds him, but he keeps his feet rooted in the bright green grass.

“Remember the plan,” Niall whispers before he slips his arm in the crook of Zayn’s. There is a tightness in his voice that has been there since they first started planning Liam’s escape. Niall has not mentioned the captain’s name again, and he looks at Zayn as if he may pass out a second time.

There is some relief in him that Paddy is not too far behind. He had been glad to see his expressionless face when they met with Niall, and his husband’s godfather refused to let him stray too far since.

“I am in the charge of the Duke of Sandringham,” Zayn recites. The Duke, a close ally of Niall’s - and a supporter of Prince Charlie, he suspects. Niall had not said it explicitly, but he had mentioned doing business with the Duke and requesting the Duke to help him clear Liam’s name. “He requires information of a prisoner he suspects to be held here. Identification is required, hence why you are here. He wanted a reprieval granted as the Captain who charged Liam is now charged with misconduct.”

Niall gives him a grunt of approval before he starts off, headed towards the prison entrance. Zayn prays quietly that his tongue does not feel as swollen when the time comes for him to speak. The Duke had only told Niall he would think about investigating the Captain, he needed to speak to Zayn and Liam first. But Zayn and Liam never had the chance to return to Castle Leoch.

The inside of the prison is dark. The guards at the front entrance do not say a word to them, but Zayn feels their eyes following him as he disappears farther down a long hallway.

“Name.”

He is a short, chubby soldier, with a rifle held close to his red clad chest. His eyes narrow at Zayn before flicking towards Niall.

“Zayn Randall,” Zayn lies, using the name Griffin had told him to use. The last names of men who actually worked with the Duke of Sandringham. “I am here by order of the Duke of Sandringham to speak to the Warden. This is my escort Niall Fraser.”

The guard stares at him for a long moment. Zayn hopes Griffin is correct, that the Warden still takes an hour break after his midday meal. 

“The Warden is tending to some business at the moment. But you may wait in his office until his return.”

A burst of excitement fills Zayn, though he tries to quiet it. There will be no room for joy until he leaves this prison with Liam by his side.  

The office is small, a few shelves surrounding a fireplace and a desk covered in papers and crumbs of some kind. Zayn waits for the door to shut behind him before he pulls away from Niall.

Niall keeps by the door as Zayn rummages through the paperwork. _Left side, bottom_ drawer echoes Griffin’s voice in his head. There are hundreds of names, more than Zayn thinks could fit in this prison but none are Liam Payne.

Zayn presses his hands down on the desk in frustration. “It wouldn’t be under Gibbons would - never mind.”

At the corner of the desk, half unrolled, Zayn eyes the  _ Payne _ written in a chicken scrawl. He grabs for it urgently, eyes scanning over the parchment.

“Granted a brief reprieve, to be hung in two days time -“

The parchment trembles, the sides threatening to tear with how tightly Zayn grips onto it. It says nothing of Liam’s location. Griffin had told him those who are exiled are locked up at the far side of the building, but Zayn needed to know exactly where.

_ Thievery. Escape. Kidnapping. Murder. _

Zayn reads Liam’s charges over and over, until the words are printed to the back of his eyelids when he blinks. But he cannot understand them.  _ Murder _ ?

“That gives us two more days if today goes wrong,” Niall says encouragingly. He waves his hand quickly, eyes alarmed as he peeks out of the door.

The creak of the office door has Zayn fumbling to place the parchment exactly where it had been but a loud thud stops him.

Niall holds the soldier’s rifle, the butt aimed at his head as the man slides slowly down the door to the ground. Zayn stares in horror as Niall quickly pulls the man inside.

“Harry told me ye turn into stone around violence,” Niall grunts as he rips the soldier’s from his torso. “I thought it best no to tell ye but yer face tells me I was wrong.”

Niall chucks the uniform at Zayn. “Move yer feet, Zayn. Ye canna walk around the prison in that!”

Zayn does as Niall says, quickly removing his own cloak and shirt to replace it with the soldiers. Niall is pulling his old clothes from him a moment later and shoving the rifle and a set of dangling keys into his hand. 

“Go on. Be quick about it! This is the new Zayn Randall. Fainted. It is a bit stuffy in here, aye? ”

Zayn has little faith that anyone will be convinced by Niall’s story but he eases out of the doorway without argument . He does not have space in his already preoccupied mind to take on any other worry. 

Griffin had shown him a drawing of the prison outline. It is simple enough. A square building with a courtyard in the middle. But the inside, with the dark lighting, seems anything but simple. He can’t see into the dark cells, but the echo of life surrounds him. Scraping feet, a cough here or there.

He wishes he were actually a witch for once, so he could feel Liam near him without having to see him.

There are more guards as he follows the corridor farther down. Every step he takes he embraces for an alarm, a sign or something that tells him the prison guards know something is astray. 

When he reaches a corridor filled with more guards than the rest, he knows he has found Liam. He peers around the corner, counting the doors. Three. He has three attempts to find Liam, but he suspects the door with four guards in front of it is the one holding Liam behind it. 

Zayn’s feet lift from the floor as he is tugged back. He opens his mouth to yell, but a hard hand closes hard over his mouth as he shoves against the wall.

“Shh! You are not very good at sneaking, lad. You stick out like a sore thumb.”

Zayn stares back at the dark eyes baring down onto him. The hate inside of him grows as he sees his father’s face again with that coldness. 

“Funny to catch you here,” Malik grits out. “I was just going to stop in for a visit with your husband, if you would like to join. He misses you quite so. Screams your name in his sleep.”

Zayn shoves Malik off of him, and to his surprise he lets Zayn go without struggle. “What is wrong with you?”

Malik laughs. Zayn hates how the brightness in his face reminds him of his dad’s laughter, of his sisters’ laughter. Malik’s is tainted with cruelty, the only difference.

“He is quite beautiful, your husband. Even the scars.” Malik seems distracted for a moment, like he is thinking about Liam’s scars. Disgust fills Zayn. “The scars are beautiful. He will only have more when today is done.”

Zayn lurches from the wall but Malik grabs him and slams him back against it. “If you are obedient, maybe I will allow you a few moments alone with your husband to say your farewells before he is hung.”

He is ripped from the wall and dragged across the corridor. The guards pay them no attention as Malik drags Zayn, who stumbles over his own feet as he tries to keep up. He is not going to fight to get Malik off of him he decides, not with at least twenty rifles around him. And he wants Malik to leave him with Liam, he wants to be beside Liam even if they are imprisoned together.

Zayn had spent the last two days needing Liam beside him, but there is a sudden hesitation in him as he pushes the door open.  _ There will be more scars,  _ Malik had said _.  _ The image of Liam’s scars flash in his mind and the bile in his throat is harder to swallow.

A dim candle flickers in the cell, casting shadows across the room. He finds Liam’s form instantly, his head hanging so his chin rests on his chest where he sits on the floor in the middle of the room.

“Liam!” Zayn exclaims, rushing to him as Malik lets him go roughly. He falls to his knees, fingers reaching out to his face. He does not care if Malik enjoys his desperation, he does not care that Malik is watching him. He just wants to touch Liam, he needs to be sure that this is not a nightmare come true.

Liam does not respond at first and horror strikes through him. His face is swollen and bloody, streaks of red dried across his cheeks and under his nose. He smells lavender, as if someone has tended to his wounds. 

“Liam,” Zayn pleads. His fingers slide to his throat, where he can feel the faint pulse of his heart under his jaw. His breathing is shallow, but Zayn can feel it when he hovers a palm over his mouth. “Liam it is me. Zayn.”

It is soft when he speaks, his voice dry and weak. “Sassenach?”

Malik thuds across the room. He grabs Liam and lifts him with a grunt. Zayn reaches for him frantically. Dried blood coats Liam’s chest and fresh blood trails down his abdomen. There is a burn mark under his right breast, shaped like a M.

“Sit, Liam. Have water if you please,” The Captain grunts before slumping Liam into a chair in front of a table. There is a glass of water on it that Liam reaches for.

A sob passes Zayn’s lips as he watches the flash of blade before Liam’s crying out in agony, his hand now pinned to the table. Liam’s body shakes visibly, his cracked lips parted around harsh breaths.

“Your husband has come to say goodbye,” Malik says calmly, as if he did not just shove a dirk into the back of Liam’s hand. Zayn tries his hardest to swallow his tears. He does not know what to do, what to say. He does not want Malik to strike Liam again, but he has to do something. “After your death, he will return home with me where he belongs.”

“I will not,” Zayn spits angrily. “I will go nowhere with you.”

Malik gives him a bored look. “I do not remember telling you you had a choice. I am sure you are interested in why we look similar? I am too, by the way. I have made quite a name for myself, I can offer you a much safer life as we figure out how we are related. I have only my brothers, and you are too old to be kin. I am interested to know where you come from.”

Malik stands, pacing slowly over to him. Zayn is interested too, but not enough to go anywhere with the man. “When you come from,” Malik goes on. “It is curious, the tales of Maliks and Brannans. That is the last name you claimed, is it not? Brannan?”

Zayn freezes as he makes sense of the Captain’s words. The Captain grips his jaw, and Zayn remains still as he had the first time they had met. Liam makes a wounded noise, but the Captain grips him harder so he cannot look at his husband.

“You look just like her,” Malik says quietly, his breath cascading over Zayn’s face. “I should destroy your face the way she destroyed me.”

Zayn flinches as Malik’s other hand jerks close to his face. He only drags the tip of his dirk down Zayn’s jaw, never pressing it into his skin. “Do as you please, but leave my husband alone,” Zayn spits. 

Malik laughs quietly, the sound holding no amusement. “I am not done with that husband of yours. You will watch me punish him, and then you will watch me take his body right here, in front of you.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” Zayn struggles to get out. “I have done nothing to you.”

Malik’s hand slams down hard against the wall beside his head. Zayn flinches again, wishing he could sink into the wall and disappear. His body shakes with fear, and as badly as he wants to stand his ground and face off against Malik for Liam’s sake, he wants to curl up and hide as well.

As much anger as the captain has towards Zayn, he never strikes him the way he so easily strikes Liam. Something is holding him back, and Zayn needs to figure out what it is to play it to his advantage.

Liam grunts loudly before there is a swishing sound in the air. Malik cries out as the dirk slices into his forearm. Zayn moves quickly away from Malik, headed to get Liam, but Malik’s fist gets there first.

There is a loud crunch before the blood streams from Liam’s nose and he drops to his knees. Zayn falls beside him, trying to keep him from crumpling over onto his destroyed hand, but he struggles to hold up Liam’s heavy weight.

“I am doing this because you look like her,” Malik spits, his voice filled with strain as he clutches his bicep. The knife had not gotten stuck, but dipped into his skin and clattered to the ground. Liam is not strong enough right now to truly damage anyone.

“Who?” Zayn cries frantically. 

Malik breathes heavily through his nose. “You have taken the name Brannan. Do not act as if you do not know what I speak of!”

There is a knock at the door that prevents Zayn from voicing his confusion before a soldier pops his head in. He acts as if he cannot see the beaten and bloody man on the ground. “I am sorry to disturb you, Captain. There is a man here to see you. He says he has some information on a Brannan?”

Malik glances at Zayn with a wide grin before he nods. He wipes his hands off on a rag he lifts from the table. “Brannan, you say? What did this man say his name was?”

“He did not say,” the soldier responds. “A highlander, Clan Horan colors.”

Zayn does not let the relief show on his face as he guides Liam’s head into his lap. He pulls his shirt out from where it is tucked into his pants and removes it quickly. He balls it up and presses it under Liam’s nose in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

“I will return to finish this conversation,” Malik promises, before he heads for the door. “Make sure no one enters or exits.”

Zayn rocks Liam gently in his lap. He does not know how to get Liam out when the man can barely stand. He has only seen the front of him, but there was a flash of the damage to his back earlier and Zayn hopes it is not as bad as he thinks it is.

Liam blinks in and out of consciousness. Zayn gets his nose to stop bleeding, but the bump on its bridge is not a good sign.

“Li,” Zayn hums, as he cradles Liam’s head. His eyes are blurry with the tears he is struggling to hold back. “Will you wake up? I am here with you.”

Liam’s brows clench together before his eyes flicker open. Maybe he had not been sleeping, but instead avoiding looking at Zayn. The suspicion makes Zayn’s chest ache.

“Go away,” Liam murmurs. He tries to struggle against Zayn’s grip, but he cannot move much. “You are not him.”

Zayn stares down at Liam in confusion. He rubs his beard, hoping the touch will remind him of the way he scratches at his beard until Liam falls asleep after they make love. “It is me, Liam. Zayn. Your husband.”

“Sassenach,” Liam groans, his body curling until Liam’s face is burying against his stomach. Zayn clings to him harder, his body trembling in sync with Liam’s. “Ye are no safe here. Ye need to go. I canna protect ye like this.”

“Shh,” Zayn hums. At any other time it would be endearing that Liam cares more about his safety than his own, even when he is the one lying bloody on the ground. “I am not leaving you.”

The door opens again and Zayn tenses, curling farther over Liam to protect him. 

It is Malik that enters, but he no longer wears his red uniform. He wears a white shirt under a dark green vest, and black pants. His hair is no longer tied back - it is not even long enough to be tied back. His beard is thicker, reminding him even more of his father. His mother used to fuss whenever he shaved it off. 

Zayn stares in confusion at the man’s face. There is nothing but warmth and hesitancy in his expression - no cruelty. For a moment, Zayn wonders if the Captain is playing with their heads or if his father has truly just stepped into the cell.

“We need to go,” the man urges, as he hurries towards them. Zayn pulls Liam closer to him as the man reaches out to help him. “Your men are about to storm through the prison, and we need to be out of here before the guards realize what is going on.”

“Who are you?” Zayn breathes, his voice shaky. “You are not the Captain but -”

“Bashar,” the man says. “My name is Bashar. We may look alike, but I am nothing like my brother.”

Brother. Zayn lets out a wounded laugh. He feels like he has been thrown around and slammed against more walls than he has actually hit. “Brother? There are two of you? Oh that is fucking great.”

The man makes a frustrated noise but there is still warmth in his expression. “It is not uncommon. You have heard of women giving birth to two children at one time, yes?” 

Zayn lets out another laugh. Liam struggles against his grip to move away from him, but Zayn thinks if he loses the pressure of Liam against him he might crumble. 

“I will explain when you are out of here,” Bashar urges. He grabs Zayn’s arm and Zayn lets him. 

“How do I know I can trust you?” Zayn asks, as he helps Bashar lift Liam to his feet. For once, Zayn does not enjoy how heavy Liam is. He enjoys the pressure of Liam on top of him, but now his shoulders feel as if they are being crushed as Liam rests all of his wait onto him. 

“What does your gut say?” Bashar asks. “My mother always told me to trust my gut.”

Zayn stares at him for a moment. He does not have enough energy to think about what his gut has to say because it has been screaming at him in hunger for hours. The man looks like Malik and that sends fear through him, but looking into his father’s warms eyes make him want to trust him. “Where are we going?” 

“The back. All the soldiers are being herded to the front. Come on, Liam.”

Liam fights him off weakly, shoving the hands off of him violently. “Get off of me.”

A sob passes Zayn’s lips before he can stop it. “Liam. We have to go. I am here to take you home.”

There is a growing rumble, like the sound of footsteps but louder and faster. 

“Liam, babe, you cannot stand on your own. Let me help you.”

There is no warmth in his eyes when they finally open to look at him, only agony. “If ye must whip me then do. But I dinna want to see yer face,” Liam says deliriously. “Ye will no speak his name again o I will return from the dead to kill ye.”

“It is me, Liam. Not Malik.  _ Not Malik _ . Come on.”

Liam whispers as they move. It sounds like a prayer, and he does not recognize any of the words other than  _ mo ghràidh _ . He had said it once to him while half asleep, a smile on his lips, and again in front of Harry.

“Liam, remember when I told you I was not sure where my home was?” Zayn grits out as he lugs Liam towards the door, desperate to keep him awake. “You gave me one. And I need you to help me get you there.”

Liam’s hand cups his shoulder. His weight does not lift but his feet are steadier on the ground.

The rumbling grows louder as Zayn starts to move them into the corridor. He stills with the rush of wind as a herd of cattle pour into the hallway.

There is a joyful holler behind the cattle before Harry’s face emerges inches from his own. His smile fades as he glances at Liam and his eyes narrow as they take in Bashar. 

“Different guy, I guess. Help me with Li.”

“Different -” Harry starts but Zayn interrupts.

“Harry! We do not have the time!”

Zayn can move easier with Harry on Liam’s other side, though the corridor seems to be never-ending. He wants to cry out in relief as the fresh air touches his face and he sees the colors of Clan Horan in the distance.

It is dark enough that they will not be well seen from the castle walls, but they still make haste. Paddy does not need any assistance as he lifts Liam by himself into one of the carriages, strapped to the back of the horses. 

“Are you coming as well? I still need an explanation,” Zayn says, as he holds a hand out to Bashar to help him onto the carriage. Paddy looks between them until landing on Zayn. “He is coming with us,” is all Zayn has to say before Paddy nods and lets Bashar climb up before closing the railing behind him.

“Has your gut decided?” Bashar grunts out, as he falls beside Zayn. Zayn kneels by Liam’s head and gently lifts it into his lap to keep it from knocking against the wood as the wheels bump over the rocks. The bottom is covered in a thin layer of hay, and he is worried about it touching his wounded back, but there is nothing he can do to stop it. 

“How did you know I needed help?”

The carriage jerks before it takes off. There is the distant sound of yelling from the castle, but the men ride quickly and urgently. 

“My brother has mentioned meeting you. But we have no family, not since my mother passed,” Bashar explains quietly. “I have asked around about you throughout the villages. I knew you were married to the young lord, and I knew you were married to keep you safe from my brother.

“My brother was desperate to find you again. I have been trying to keep an eye on him, to make sure he does not do anything drastic. He may be who he is, but he is my brother.” Bashar’s voice falls quiet at the last part and he swallows thickly again before responding. 

“I saw Liam, I heard his name, and I made the connection. My brother mentioned how he hoped you would come to rescue him. I hoped you did not, but I wanted to be there if you did. I wanted to see you with my own eyes, to see if you looked like her as my brother said you did. I wanted to make sure he did not use any force against you.”

Zayn keeps his fingers over Liam’s pulse. He had told himself not to feel relief until he walked out of the prison with his husband by his side, but he doesn’t feel relief now. He can feel the damp warm liquid sliding down his torso and hitting the legs Zayn has embraced around Liam’s arms.

“I may look like my brother but I am not like him. He is like my father, I expect. My mother left him when she was carrying us in her belly still. She never spoke much about him, but I could see in her eyes he was not a good man.”

“Why help me rescue him?” Zayn asks. Liam is hot to the touch like always, but this time Zayn does not savor the warmth radiating from him. 

“You look like her,” Bashar says quietly, repeating what his brother had said to him earlier. “Like my mother.”

*

They take refuge at Griffin’s home for the night. They cannot stay long, but that seems a far-off concern as Paddy and Griffin lay Liam on the ground before the fire. 

“On his front,” Zayn orders. There are wounds on his front but he had seen the look of anger on Paddy’s face when he took in Liam’s back.

Zayn sucks in a breath, busying himself with boiling the water. He can look,  _ he can look _ , he assures himself. This is his job. He has dealt with men in worse condition, he just was not in love with any of them. “I need cloths. Clean ones. And alcohol. Do you have poppy by any chance? Laudanaum?”

“Sassenach.”

Zayn pulls away from the fire to fall beside Liam. The scars of his back are hidden under new open wounds. He looks away, focusing on Liam’s face. He is careful when he touches the side of his swollen cheek. 

“No opium,” Liam breathes, his eyelashes fluttering. “Please.”

“Yeah, okay,” Zayn promises against his better judgment. There is no point in telling Liam how much it will hurt without it; he is sure Liam already knows. 

Liam does not move as Zayn tends to the wounds on his back. His groans of pain are quiet but they echo loudly in Zayn’s ears. 

“Could you see if Harry has my medical bag?” Zayn asks Bashar. He needs something to dress the wounds - witch hazel, St. John’s Wort - he does not know if he has any of it. Liam had been captured on a supply run for him. 

“Have some antibiotic stored in there?” Bashar jokes before heading off to find Harry. It pulls Zayn’s attention away from Liam for a moment as he watches Bashar leave and Niall enter the room. 

“Ye trust that man?” Niall asks.

“Yes,” Zayn responds simply, as he sips the cloth into the hot water to rinse it. He is not sure when he decided that, but it feels true. “He did help me free my husband.”

Niall cusses as he sits in front of Liam and takes his hand into his own. The fingers are swollen and disfigured, and Liam hisses in pain as Niall touches one.

“Ye will want laudanaum for this lad,” Niall tells him, his voice uncharacteristically soft. A mix of opium and alcohol - in Zayn’s time, he would have argued against it but there are no alternatives now. “Resetting bones is nothing ye want to be feeling.”

Liam tries to push himself up with his good hand but Zayn flattens a palm to his shoulder to keep him down. “I need to cover these wounds so they will not get infected.”

“Ye can let me die, Sassenach,” Liam mutters.

“Do not say shit like that, Liam,” Zayn says forcefully, refusing to let the squeeze of his heart sound in his voice. “I told you, if you die, I will bring you back to life and kill you myself. I am a man of my word.”

Liam coughs out an amused sound. “I am yer husband. Ye are supposed to listen to what I say.”

“That is bullshit,” Zayn says, grinning as he sees the small upward flicker of Liam’s mouth. “I am the doctor. I overrule.”

“Ye have a wicked mouth, Sassenach,” Liam murmurs. “Doesna match yer pretty face.”

Zayn snorts. “Well let me heal your wounds so you can spend the rest of your life looking at my pretty face.”

Bashar returns with Harry, carrying his medical bag. There is not much inside of it as he had suspected, but he works around it until he is satisfied with his work. Or semi-satisfied. He would feel better if they were in an actual hospital, with antibiotics and proper sanitation.

“I have a boat,” Bashar tells him, as they lift Liam into a sitting position. He needs to tend to his chest, but he does not want his back pressing against anything so Bashar and Niall hold him up with a steady hand.

Liam still will not open his eyes and at certain points, Zayn wonders if he is clenching them closed on purpose. He had acted as if it were the Captain in front of him in the prison when Zayn had been trying to help him out, but he does not know if Liam had been looking at him or Bashar.

There are only two lash marks across his chest, but they are deep. The _ M _ burned under his breast is angry looking. He tries not to think about how angry it makes him feel that Malik branded him. 

“It is my dream to visit Pakistan, but it is a dream I can fulfill at a later time. You need the boat more than me.”

Zayn pulls away from Liam to stare at his new friend. He eyes the men a few feet away, talking in hushed voices. Harry is the only one close enough to hear as he helps Liam drink water with a gentle hand pressed under his chin.

“Pakistan does not exist yet,” Zayn whispers. “And neither do antibiotics.”

Bashar smiles softly. His face is much kinder than his brother’s, and it makes it easy for Zayn to forget how similar he looks to the Captain. “I know. I know where you are from. Do you not know of the Brannans and Maliks?”

Zayn peers at him suspiciously. The Captain had asked him  _ when _ he was from but he had also admitted to not knowing. How could Bashar? “And where is that?” 

Bashar glances at Liam before ducking close to Zayn to whisper the words so only he can hear. “There are no other Maliks here. There is rumor that you are a fairy, a man who stepped through the stones from a different time. That is the only explanation. Not being a fairy, I do not believe in them. But I know the tale is based on truth, the tale about our family. It is possible to travel through time with the stones of Craigh na Dun.”

“How do you know that?” Zayn breathes in shock. 

“My mother told us about them,” Bashar explains. “About the people who came through. She wanted to, but she died before she could.”

“Oi! Are ye gonna keep gossiping or ye gonna fix my cousin?” Niall grunts, making Zayn pull away from Bashar before he can ask any more questions. A million pop into his head, one after another, but he pushes them away to focus on Liam.

Niall grips Liam’s shoulders firmly to keep him from moving as Zayn tries to reconstruct his fingers. He flinches with every yell and panics as Liam’s hand jerks violently away from him. 

The middle finger is shattered completely. He can feel the shards of bone inside. Liam jerks the moment he touches him, his other hand reaching out to grip Zayn’s neck. 

“Dinna touch me,” Liam grunts angrily. His eyes a narrowed, a look on his face that has never be aimed at Zayn. His skin is covered in dripping sweat, but he has been pushing away Harry’s attempts at giving him water.

Zayn remains still. His touch does not hurt but he does not know what Liam sees, he does not want to tempt him into tightening his grip. “I have one more finger to set, Liam. I cannot set this one, I will not touch it again.”

“I said,  _ dinna touch me _ .”

Niall whips a hand out, yanking Liam’s hand away from Zayn. “What is wrong wit ye lad? It is Zayn! If I touched him like that ye would be having my head on a pike!”

“Dinna say his name again,” Liam breathes weakly, his head tilting back so he stares at the ceiling. Zayn wishes he had a thermometer to see if it is a fever causing him to be delusional.

“I am here, Liam,” Zayn says softly. He does not think it is the fever, but something else entirely. He has seen trauma victims before, has heard the mutterings of people saved from torture.  “My love, it is me.”

Liam’s body calms as Zayn speaks, his eyes fluttering closed again and his hand falling limply in his lap. 

Zayn used to sing to his sisters to cheer them up or to calm them from a tantrum. He would sing their favorite songs terribly off key to make them laugh or as well as he could manage to make them focus on something other than the cause of their tears. Zayn watches Liam’s expression carefully before he starts to sing, hoping it calms him as well as it did with his sisters.

_ Each time the wind blows I hear your voice so I call your name - _

It is easier to touch Liam as he sings. He tenses as Zayn touches his index finger, but he does not attempt to pull away this time. There are eyes on him all around he knows, but he focuses on Liam to rid the embarrassment he feels when he sings in front of people. 

Zayn rests Liam’s hand on his thigh before taking his other one. He traces the life line there with the tip of his finger. “I just can’t stop loving you,” he hums before pressing a gentle kiss to his palm.

Liam’s fingers flex to scratch against his beard. His eyes still do not open. 

“There is a boat. We can go to Paris like you wanted,” Zayn whispers to him as he nuzzles his cheek against Liam’s hand. “But first, you should rest.”

“No, first,” Liam struggles to get out. He reaches for Niall behind him, but Niall moves in front of him. “Niall help me.”

Zayn watches in horror as Liam stretches and slides his good hand over the burn. Niall’s eyes are hard on the brand and he nods in understanding though Liam does not voice what he needs. 

“You cannot!” Zayn says, reaching out to stop Niall as he grabs his dirk. “He is wounded enough.”

“That is why I dinna ask you,” Liam says softly, as he grabs a the folded belt Niall offers him to place between his teeth. “I canna have his mark on me for a second longer. Ye can mark me, my love, but no him. I only belong to ye.”

Zayn falls back in defeat, cringing away the hissing of Liam’s voice. Niall shields him with his body so Zayn cannot see, but even the thought of causing Liam any pain makes him want to kick the war chief in the ribs. 

Liam breathes heavily as Niall places a warm rag against his new wound, cleaning it up for Zayn as if he knows Zayn cannot handle much more. He helps Liam move onto his stomach after his bandages are secured, guiding Liam in front of Zayn.

Zayn hates the tremble in Liam’s body as he is laid back on his stomach. He sits by his head, watching as the other man leave the room.

When they first met, Zayn had been nervous to touch him. That feeling had gone away, but now he is afraid to again. He does not want to hear that angry tone in Liam’s voice again, does not want to see those narrowed eyes directed at him again.

“Can ye sing to me again, Sassenach?” Liam asks, lifting himself slightly until his head is resting on Zayn’s thigh, his arm curling underneath it. 

That fear fades away. He threads his fingers through Liam’s hair as he sings. The rise and fall of Liam’s chest slows, the trembling easing as he seems to fall asleep.

“I love you, Zayn,” Liam breathes, his arm tightening around his thigh. “But I canna look at ye.”

Zayn’s heart clenches but he does not speak. The agony has returned to Liam’s voice and he hates it just as much as he hates the anger.

“In that cell, you were all I thought about. I wanted ye, I wanted ye next to me so badly it made my bones ache. But now everytime I look at ye it as if my skin is being torn apart again.”

Zayn curls over Liam until his cheeky touches his soft hair. He keeps in the sob, but his body shakes with it, desperate to let it free.

“He told me to think of ye every time the whip came down. I tried not to but yer face was the only thing that gave me strength when I thought I couldna stand any longer. He said ye look the same and after a while, ye did.”

“That is why you will not open your eyes,” Zayn states sadly. The tears slip from his eyelids and he buries them in Liam’s brown hair. “Because I look like him.”

“Dinna cry, Sassenach,” Liam groans as he tilts his head back. He lets out a noise of strain before his lips glide over Zayn’s neck. “He isna here. It is just the two of us now. Keep singing to me if ye would like. Yer voice reminds me ye are mine, and no him.”

*

Zayn barely sleeps. He spends the night tending to Liam, careful not to wake him. When he does sleep, he drifts in and out of it. It has been nearly three days since he has slept, and he is starting to feel as delirious as Liam appears. He jerks awake every time Liam moves, and he reaches for the knife in his belt when he hears the footsteps in the room.

It is only Niall’s. He can hear the stirring of the other men around the house, preparing to move Liam. He does not listen to much of it, he trusts the men to get them out of Scotland for awhile.

Niall whispers quietly to someone, and after a few minutes, Zayn realizes it is Bashar. He wants to go and see what the problem is, but he does not want to move an inch away from Liam.

Zayn traces Liam’s features, his finger floating over Liam’s skin. He looks peaceful asleep, but he does not smile. His brows push together here and there, his nose wrinkling, but he never smiles. 

“I am from the future,” Zayn whispers, pushing close so their noses almost touch. “I was born in nineteen hundred and seventy-two, to Patricia and Yaser Malik. I do not know how I got here, but I know the reason I am here.”

Liam’s expression does not change. It is easy confessing his secrets while he sleeps, but he wishes Liam could hear them. He has just been so afraid of admitting them. Liam clearly has secrets himself- kidnapping and murder, for one - but he cannot justify keeping his own.

“I was brought here, dragged through time, to find you,” Zayn confesses quietly, “so don’t you go anywhere on me, Liam.”

The sound of Niall’s boots again has Zayn pulling away from Liam a few inches. The fire behind him flickers shadows across Niall’s face as he turns to look at them. His eyes widen in surprise that Zayn is awake.

“Your friend left,” Niall explains. “He told me where to find the boat, we will leave soon.”

Zayn pushes up onto his elbows. “Bashar left?”

“Aye,” Niall grumbles. “He is going to misdirect the Captain’s search for ye and Payno. I want an explanation, but I will wait until Liam is healed before ye tell me.”

Zayn nods, slumping back down to the ground. His heart sinks in his chest. There is so much more that he had wanted to ask Bashar, but he cannot go after him and leave Liam behind. Zayn does not understand how he got to this century, but someone else - someone who looks exactly like his father, seems to know.  

“Thank you for helping me.”

“No thanks needed. I said I owe ye life and my debt is paid. Thank ye for making me do it.”

There is a grin on Niall’s face before he nods his head and leaves him alone with Liam. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and leaving such wonderful reviews! I am thinking this will be about 13 chapters at the most. 
> 
> There are a few quotes from the great poet [Pabla Neruda](https://books.google.com/books/about/100_Love_Sonnets.html?id=CJzacj7Za5IC&printsec=frontcover&source=kp_read_button#v=onepage&q&f=false). Check him out!

Liam’s temperature has dropped, but Zayn is not sure if that has to with the crisp winter air or if his body has actually fought off all infection. He stays on the top deck of the  _ Maira  _ during most of their trip, emptying the contents of his stomach over the side railing. Liam pushes away Zayn’s fussing every time, insisting it is only sea sickness. 

There are times Liam will not allow him to touch him at all, times when singing does not calm his frantic retreat. Zayn pulls back immediately each time, not wanting Liam to hurt himself more while trying to get away from him. Harry tends to him during these times, with Zayn standing far back, out of sight and ignoring the looks of apology Harry sends his way. 

“He will move past it. Ye need to have him think about his love for ye, Zayn, and forget about his time spent with Malik. I dinna think it is the body’s wounds causing him to be the way he is.”

Zayn clenches the railing of the ship as he turns to see Niall beside him, smiling softly. His face is red from the wind and cold, his loose hair whipping around. There is an understanding in his eyes that rids the tense feeling Zayn always has when Niall comes near. 

“Talk to him about his mother, or Nicola,” Niall goes on, leaning against the railing beside him, “Ye can see how calm he becomes when he hears yer voice. It brings him away from his thoughts. He would ne’er cause ye harm, ye ken.”

Zayn nods, taking in his suggestions. It is not as simple as Niall makes it seem, but he does not push it. There are times when Zayn speaks and Liam retreats further. He either keeps his eyes clenched closed or looks at Zayn with fear and anger in them. Zayn is not sure which one he hates more. “Thank you. You did not have to come with us, you know.”

“Och, I will no leave my cousin, no like this,” Niall explains as if it is simple. “Nor Harry, and Harry will no leave you. Besides, best Harry isna in the castle. I may have calmed my brother, but I dinna trust him not to change his mind about keepin’ Harry around. I would lose everything if I killed my brother, but I would not hesitate to do so if he goes for Harry’s life again.”

“I hear Paris is nice this time of year. Good for marriage proposals,” Zayn teases with a grin, an attempt at lightening the mood because he is not sure what to do with what Niall just said. He watches Niall carefully, for any sign that he does not want to marry Harry as much as Harry wants to marry him. Niall’s face grows warm and he tucks his face towards his shoulder as if the smile on his lips is a private one and not for Zayn to see.

“Ye and Harry talk too much. Do ye compare cock sizes, as well?” Niall jokes. He claps his heavy shoulder down on Zayn’s shoulder, laughing loudly at Zayn’s embarrassed expression. Harry has never mentioned Niall’s, but he has asked Zayn about Liam’s a few times.  “I will have to ask Harry. Oh - Zayn, does two, zero, one, five mean anything to you?”

Zayn shakes his head. “I do not think so. Why?”

“Yer friend Bashar has some documents below. Some of them are tucked into a book of sonnets, one of them has yer name and the other that number. Harry believes ye never met the lad before, and I dinna ask him too many questions because he helped my cousin, but I dinna like seeing yer name there. No in the book of Stones.”

Zayn parts his lips a few times as he tries to figure out a response. He can’t tell what Niall is thinking. His eyes aren’t as suspicious as they normally are. “I cannot say I know anything about that.”

Niall sighs. “I dinna think he would mean ye harm since he helped Liam and gave us his boat, but use caution, aye, Sassenach? He still is the Captain’s brother. Liam quieted the men’s gossip about ye bein’ a fairy, it is no a good idea to give anyone reason to start talking about it again.”

Zayn nods before Niall finally walks off and leaves him alone. For the first time, Sassenach does not sound as if it is meant to be degrading when he say sit. 

Zayn ventures below deck once he is gone, where he finds Liam on a makeshift bed with his back bare and uncovered. His skin glistens from the aloe juice Zayn had instructed Harry to apply to his wounds. His bandaged hand hangs off the side of the bed, his other tucked beneath his head.

“I dinna tell ye the truth, Zayn. No all of it.”

Liam’s eyes fall closed as Zayn makes his way across the room towards him. Harry stays quiet, but his wide eyes are on them as he washes the aloe juice from his hands. The boat sways under his feet. It had taken him some time to get used to the feeling and not trip over himself, but he stays on top deck most of the time to avoid it, and to keep an eye on Liam. 

“The truth about what?”

He sits in front of Liam to take his good hand into his own. His palms are rougher than they had been before from the cold. He is in desperate need of rose balm for them before they crack open, but he cannot obtain pigs’ lard until they make shore. He had used some of Nicola’s while they had been at Lallybroch, and Zayn had been surprised and impressed by the resulting softness of his own hands. 

“I vowed the truth but I dinna give it. I dinna lie but no telling ye every part is the same.”

“Sometimes,” Zayn tells him quietly. He lines the tips of his fingers with Liam’s, pleading for him to hold his hand but he does not. “But not always.”

“It is the truth that I had been arrested for stealing, but it was my own cattle I was taking back. It had been taken from Eoghan’s father. If I kept fighting with the soldiers, they would have charged me with obstruction as well.” Liam stops speaking to cough roughly, his body crunching in pain as the cough tenses the muscles of his wounded back. Tears bud out of his eyes and cling on to his eyelashes afterwards, but he does not open his eyes or wipe them away.

Zayn does, though, with the smallest of touches, just the tip of his thumb brushing under Liam’s eyelashes. 

“When I escaped, I had taken a guard with me to help me find the way out. To help me stand, as well. I hadna eaten in a few days, ye ken. I held a dirk to his throat but the blade never pierced his skin. We moved with caution.”

_ Kidnapping, murder _ . Zayn has seen those listed under Liam’s charges. He had forgotten about them until now. He had only spared them a thought, a shocked thought, but it seemed minimal to everything else that has happened.

“Malik shot after me as we stepped foot into the grass, but it was no me that the bullet had hit. The guard dropped and I dinna wait around to see if he was breathin’ or no. I would have rather died than spend another moment with Malik, and Griffin had given me the dirk. I dinna want the Warden to discover it and punish him for helping me.”

Liam’s fingers finally slip between the spaces of Zayn’s and squeeze tightly. “I dinna want ye to think of me that way. I dinna want ye to worry yerself about me being hanged if I were caught.”

Zayn leans forward until their noses press together. Liam’s breath against his lips is weak, and smells of ginger and mint from the tea he had made to calm his stomach. “I would have killed every man that stood in my way of getting to you.”

Liam makes a  _ mhmph _ sound, his eyes flickering open. Zayn holds his gaze, smiling so Liam sees the warmth in them and not the coldness of Malik’s staring back at him. They are his mother’s shape and not his father’s, but there is enough of him that looks like Malik that Liam does not seem to see the small differences anymore.

“Who was the man that helped ye? I ken it wasna the Captain. I dinna see the purpose of torturing me just to let me go with ye.”

“Bashar,” Zayn tells him quietly. “I think - I think he is family, but I do not know how if he is. I did not know he existed until the prison.”

Liam’s eyes fall closed again. “His face - there was no difference between him and the Captain.“

“Liam, I - I think he is related as well. They are brothers, they shared a womb,” Zayn admits hesitantly. He rests his head besides Liam, even though the angle causes a tension in his neck. Bashar had disappeared after saving Liam, after going over their next steps with Niall. He had slipped out while Zayn slept, before Zayn could ask him about the stones. “But I do not know.”

Liam does not respond, but just lays there for awhile. His breathing is soft as if he is sleeping. It might have been the worst idea to tell him that now, when Liam is already seeing Malik’s face on him, but he has already started and the burden is already lifting from his shoulders with each word. 

“I did not tell you the truth either. I did have my father’s last name. But I did not come to Scotland to find his family. I was looking for my mother’s, that part is true. My father’s family comes from Pak - um, British India.”

Zayn’s throat feels thick like Liam has his hand wrapped around it again. Liam does not interrupt, and there are moments where Zayn isn’t sure if he is awake or not. He pretends he is asleep like he had earlier. It makes his confession easier. 

“My true last name is Malik. But my father’s family does not have any connection to England or Scotland, not yet. I did not know the Captain before I met him, and I took my mother’s last name because I heard you and the men speaking of him. You did not sound too fond of him.”

Liam huffs out an amused noise, telling Zayn that he is not sleeping. “Ye are no wrong, Sassenach,” he says weakly.

“I would like if you could look at me please,” he asks softly, tracing a finger over Liam’s jaw. The swelling in his face has gone, leaving only yellowish bruises behind. “I want to tell you another truth.”

Liam pushes himself up on his good arm, his eyes finally opening again. There is an awkward cough behind them before Zayn hears the sound of Harry’s retreating footsteps.

“Would you help me sit, Sassenach?”

Zayn does with great effort before sitting beside him. He hesitates to touch Liam again, but Liam takes his hand into his own like he knows.

“It canna be true,” Liam says thoughtfully, a hint of sadness in his words, “I dinna tell ye my truth for fear of what you would think of me. Did ye keep yers to not look a spy?”

“I did,” Zayn tells him honestly, “And then I could not figure out a way to tell you. I did not consider us being family until I met him. But I still do not know. I just know he looks like my father. He looks like me. I thought someone would notice.”

“I canna speak for the other men, but I dinna. It was no until the prison that his face started to look lik yers,” Liam admits quietly, “I believe ye, Sassenach. Ye vowed the truth and I believe yer telling me it. Best we dinna take yer last name then?”

“I like Payne more now,” Zayn says with a laugh, “Zayn Javadd Payne.”

Liam tenses, his fingers squeezing Zayn’s tighter. His Adam’s Apple bobs violently with how thickly he swallows before speaking again. “Javadd. Tis’ the captain’s name. Captain Javaad Malik.”

Zayn whips his head at Liam so quickly there is a pulse of pain in the muscles of his neck. After so long of looking at Liam’s eyelids, he is happy to see those dark brown irises, even if they are not as warm as they once were. “It cannot be a coincidence.”

“Och, no,” Liam hums. He leans over, knocking his lips against Zayn’s temple. “But it is no impossible for yer father’s family to be close to Scotland if yer mother’s is as well. They have had to have met somehow. Maybe he is a bastard of yer father’s. He was raised withou’ a da until his mother remarried.”

Zayn bites his bottom lip to keep from interrupting Liam. That is his next truth. His parents met in England, because they both grew up in England two hundred years from now. They met at a Drive-In Restaurant, and the explanation of what hamburgers are seems unimportant but Zayn is already practicing it in his head. 

“Tell me the other truth later, Sassenach. The sea is not agreeing with my stomach. I have drank yer ginger tea but it does no help verra much.”

He releases Zayn’s hand and Zayn watches as Liam stands and walks away, his shoulders slumped. The sight of his back makes him feel as if he could be sick as well. How could he be related to anyone that could harm another person like that? And enjoy it?

He stays there, folding his hands over each other in his lap for a few minutes after Liam leaves before following after him. He does not want to make Liam uncomfortable, but he does not want to give up on him either.

Liam is bent over the boat’s railing when Zayn finds him. He slides a hand over Liam’s unmarked shoulder, feeling how hot he is again.

“Has your fever returned?”

Liam stands with support from Zayn. He wipes a hand over his mouth. The tears are back in his eyes and staining down the sides of his face. “Och, no. I canna bear to see you, Sassenach. Please go away-”

“No,” Zayn interrupts firmly, his whole body flinching in pain at Liam’s words. His voice is more frantic sounding than he intended. His fists clench at his sides to keep him from gripping onto Liam’s cheeks and making him look at him. “You will look at me, and you will look at me until you see my face and not his.”

Liam does look at him, cradling his bandaged hand to his chest. He looks as if he is suffering, the tears in his eyes building and pouring out with every blink. 

“I canna,” he breathes, his voice quieter than the wind whipping through the air. “Ye said it yerself, Sassenach, ye look like him.”

Zayn does not think about the sailors around them. He does not care, not really. All he cares about is getting rid of the look of agony from Liam’s face.

He cups Liam’s cheeks, giving into the urge to force Liam to look at him. Liam flinches before nuzzling his cheek into his palm.

“We are of blood, bone and soul, if you remember,” Zayn reminds him desperately. “We are one, and I will not let you go through this alone. I will be beside you whether you like it or not, Liam Payne. I vowed myself to you until death has parted us and I do not plan on dying any time soon so you better get used to seeing this face nonstop for the rest of your life.”

Liam cups his cheeks, guiding Zayn’s head forward until their foreheads press together. “ _ Mo duinne,  _ I canna shake the darkness that has taken hold of me.”

He whispers it like a secret, a secret that makes Zayn feel as if his heart is as wounded as Liam. 

“Well ye dinna need to deal with it alone, aye laddie?”

Liam huffs out a laugh at Zayn’s horrid attempt at a Scottish accent. He whispers something again, this time in Gaelic, and Zayn does not have to ask him what it means this time. 

“I love you too,” Zayn whispers back as he tilts his chin so his lips hover over Liam’s. He waits until Liam slides his lips with his own.

It is a quick kiss, but it pours a warmth and hope through Zayn. He rests his cheek on Liam’s shoulder afterwards, and Liam holds his arms around him to keep him close.

*

Some of Liam’s strength has returned by the time they have reached the northern coast of France. He still leans his weight onto Zayn as they walk off the boat, and he curls into Zayn once seated in the carriage but Zayn cannot find a reason to complain. He is not burning too hot and his body is not trembling, but Zayn is still concerned with the sickly color of his skin and the dark purple bags under his eyes. 

They arrive at a monastery, a small church looking building called the Abbey of Ste. Anne de Beaupré. Liam does not cling to him then, but walks with his chin tilted high as they greet the abbot waiting for them.

An uncle - his grandfather’s brother, Liam explains on their way there. Alexander Payne, a kind looking man with a bowl cut wearing the same kind of brown robes Zayn has seen on statues of saints before. He allows them to stay at the Abbey, giving them a place to sleep until the phantom waves leave their bodies.

Zayn tends to Liam’s bandages when they settle into a room. Liam makes some fuss as Zayn cleans his back, but by the time Zayn is done and satisfied with the state of his lash marks, Liam has calmed and stilled for him.

“Ye can tell me yer other truth now,” Liam utters to Zayn, who is kneeling before him as he wraps his wounded hand. “I dinna want to think about the other for a moment longer.”

Zayn glances at him before settling the bandaged hand into Liam’s lap. He does not stand, but takes Liam’s other hand into his own as he continues to kneel. He has hope Liam will be able to use his fingers again, except for the shattered middle one, after a bit of exercise and massage. 

“It is about the stones,” Zayn announces. He cannot look Liam in the eye, so he focuses on the trail his finger leaves on Liam’s palm. He was always fond of Liam’s fascination of his hand, but now he has his own fascination with Liam’s palm. He nearly has every line and callous committed to memory. “The stories are true. I am not a fairy, but I did come through them from another time.”

When Liam does not respond, Zayn finally forces himself to look up at his husband. There is not much of a reaction on his face other than scrunched eyebrows and pouted lips. He tilts his head in consideration, eyes staring down at him. 

“‘Another time,’” Liam repeats, like the words are foreign to him. 

Zayn swallows thickly. “Yes...um, I was born in nineteen hundred and seventy-two.”

Liam rubs at his beard for a moment before his eyebrows lift high, making his forehead scrunch. “Ye said only the truth, so I have to believe this is the truth. But I canna say I understand, Sassenach. Ye sound like a fairy to me. Or a man with too much opium in his body.”

Zayn buries his face into Liam’s palm, and Liam places his bandages hand against his temple for comfort. The relief of the truth being out and floating between the two of them has added a lightness to his body, but it makes him feel hysterical after everything that has happened in the last few months. His shoulders hunch with quiet sobs that he cannot stop. It is like a river of emotion has broken inside of him. 

“Why are ye crying, Sassenach? Ye dinna have a lover ye need to return to, do ye?”

Zayn looks back at Liam, at the genuine concern on his face as he reaches out and wipes the tears from underneath Zayn’s eyes, which already feel swollen. His whole face throbs - the main reason he hates crying for any reason. 

“No, no I do not, do not be ridiculous. I only have my sisters and an aunt.”

Liam guides Zayn up with a gentle hand under his jaw. He is too hesitant to sit on Liam’s lap though he wants to, so he presses against him as close as he can. He huffs out the last of his sobs, but there is still a tight knot of emotion in his chest that causes the tears to build up over his eyelids.

“Ye can go to them,” Liam says softly. “I want ye to. On the run is no life for you, I understand. I dinna want to see ye cry like that again.”

“No,” Zayn says, shaking his head, “that is not why I told you. I just needed to. I do not know if I can go back anyway, and I do not know if I want to. But I  _ know _ I cannot leave you. I am crying because I have kept this from you for so long and I do not know enough to help you make sense of it.”

“Dinna cry for that, I am no mad,” Liam assures him, even though Zayn had not been worried about Liam being  _ angry _ . Unbelieving or suspicious that Zayn is crazy, maybe. Or worst case scenario, divorce. “Ye sure ye dinna have another lover?”

Zayn groans in complaint before tucking his face against Liam’s neck. Liam attempts to to curl an arm around his shoulders, but he hisses in pain before taking Zayn’s hands and settling them into his lap. 

“Where does it hurt?” Zayn asks, attempting to pull away, but Liam grips his hand harder. 

“Shoulder,” Liam grunts, as he settles a cheek against Zayn’s forehead. “No worry, Sassenach. It is just a bit achy. Now tell me about yer home. Can ye fly?”  

Zayn lets out a wet laugh. “Yeah. And there are these machines like carriages that take you from place to place. It would only take a few hours from the stones to Castle Leoch.”

Liam looks at him with distrust. “A few hours? Can ye build this machine, Sassenach? It may prove useful in my escape.”

Zayn snorts. “I have never been good at building things. I do not like those machines very much. I never learned even how to use them.”

“Ye dinna have much love for the horses either, Sassenach. Do ye walk everywhere back home? Is that why yer so skinny?”

Zayn shoves Liam away from him, but Liam grips onto his elbow to keep himself from falling back. He giggles, the infectious sound filling the room as he pulls Zayn close to him. 

“I am so skinny because the food here is not very good. It is bland, no seasoning.”

Liam looks down at him as he slides his hand to the back of Zayn’s neck. Amusement is in his eyes but confusion takes over his expression. “What is seasoning,  _ mo graidh _ ?”

Zayn only wrinkles his nose in response before he tilts his chin in a silent plea for a kiss. Liam complies, molding his lips against Zayn’s. He sucks softly on Zayn’s bottom lip like he does before he pulls away, but he does not stray far for long.

Zayn’s hands curl carefully over Liam’s shoulders to hold him close as Liam kisses him. Though slightly chapped, his lips are soft against his own. He kisses him the way he trails a finger over his palm, delicately and savoring, like he wants to memorize the taste and shape of Zayn’s mouth.

“Oh Sassenach,” Liam whispers quietly against his lips. “When ye said ye lost the wooden dog at the stones.”

Liam curls forward until his forehead is pressing to Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn folds his arms over Liam’s back carefully, as not to touch any of the healing wounds there. “I was going to leave. You knew that.”

“I dinna think -” When Liam sits up, his eyes are red rimmed again. “I dinna think ye were going to a place where I couldna find ye. It was always my intention to find ye again.”

Zayn cups his hands over Liam’s knee. “It does not matter, Liam. I never left. I stayed for you.”

Liam lets out a wet laugh, but there is no amusement in his expression. The tears build again, and Zayn’s follow suit. He is desperate to find a way to never make Liam cry again. “The world has given me ye, but made it so I canna meet the ones ye love the most and I canna seek revenge on the one person who has hurt me the most.”

Zayn tenses, his fingers trembling over Liam’s legs. “I do not understand, Liam.”

Liam’s touch is gentle against his cheek, his smile warm but his eyes remain sad. “If ye are from two hundred years in the future, he could be an ancestor of yers. He doesna have bairns of his own, but he must one day.”

That ache returns full force, gripping at Zayn’s chest with a tight fist. He had considered it, of course, but he had not thought that if something were to happen to Malik, something might happen to him.

“It could be Bashar,” Zayn says with confusion. He has little idea how any of this works. He does not even know if they can change time that way. 

Liam sighs as his smile falters. “I canna take the chance, Sassenach.”

*

Liam’s fever returns in the night. Zayn wakes to him rustling around the sheets, his skin covered in sweat and his body emitting heat like a furnace. The tremble has returned, shaking through him like when Zayn had first found him in Malik’s cell. 

“Liam,” Zayn breathes as he grips his face. His eyes are unfocused and bloodshot, his lips cracked around short breaths. “Liam.”

Liam’s eyes finally focus on him, but his face crumples in agony. “Leave me to die in peace.  _ A mhic an diabhoil _ !”

It is anger vibrating through him, Zayn realizes, as Liam grabs the front of Zayn’s shirt. The rip of the thin fabric echoes loudly through the room. He spits out more Gaelic, each word sounding angrier and more broken than the one before it.

Liam pulls Zayn close, so their faces are only inches apart. He looks as if he may be seconds away from fainting. Zayn tries pressing back against his chest, careful to avoid the wounds there, but Liam’s grip on him is too strong. Too strong for someone who looks so weak.

Fear lumps into his throat. He knows Liam would never hurt him, he knows it as true as his name. But the look in Liam’s eyes tells Zayn that it is not him that he sees, and his words only confirm it.

“Ye have destroyed my soul, Malik. I dinna care to see yer face no longer. Ye have tortured me, torn up my body but tis nothing compared to the pain I feel when I look at my husband and see yer face in it’s place.” 

Liam spits something that sounds like a curse before letting Zayn go suddenly. He rests against his back against the wall, head tilted as he stares up at the ceiling. He breathes heavily, his tears slipping out of the corner of his eyes and streaming down to his neck.

“Liam, it is me -”

“I ken it is ye now,” Liam whispers, his voice shaking, “I dinna see ye, Sassenach.”

Zayn slowly reaches for Liam, placing a hand on his thigh but he flinches so hard when Zayn touches him that he rips his hand away. 

“Please go.”

“No,” Zayn says firmly and a bit frantically. He crawls up the bed, but Liam refuses to look at him. “I need to make sure your wounds have not festered, and I need to help bring your temperature down.”

“No,” Liam repeats, “Ye will leave and ye will get Niall.  _ Please _ , Sassenach.”

Zayn wants to fight it, but Liam’s voice is so broken it cracks his chest. His words echo through his mind, the anger directed towards him and the anger coating his true last name. 

Niall is awake when Zayn locates him. Zayn stares to tremble when Harry looks at him in concern, the dam starting to break down inside of him. He wants to hold it together still so he rips away from Harry and busies himself placing snow into buckets for Liam’s fever with help of one of Brother Alexander. 

“His wounds have healed quite well,” Alexander tells him. His hands are weak and bony looking, but he lifts the bucket of snow with ease. “But a body can heal easier than a soul can.”

Niall is sitting on the edge of Liam’s bed when they returned, talking hushedly to him. His face is hard, eyes glaring at Liam as if they are trying to bore into his soul and fix it that way.

“Ye have my word,  _ coogha _ . But I will no let ye just die. Ye will let Zayn tend to ye or I will no do it.”

Zayn watches as Liam’s eyes fall closed. His nod is the barest of movements, just a slight jerk of the chin. Seemingly satisfied with this, Niall removes himself from the edge of the bed and takes the bucket from Zayn’s hand. 

“He has fallen into the darkness, lad,” Niall whispers. “Ye need to pull ‘im out of it. I will no watch him suffer and he has asked that I end it.”

Zayn shoves the bucket into Niall’s chest with irritation. The fact that Liam would ask Niall to do something like that when he seemed perfectly fine a few hours ago makes Zayn feel as if his world is tilting again. “It is not like I am enjoying it myself.”

Surprisingly, Niall softens his expression. “Is no what I am saying, Zayn. Do ye have any opium?”

*

It is cloudy around the edges of his vision, but he focuses on the face staring back at him. _ It isn’t him _ , Liam reminds himself, but there is another voice in his head telling him it could be. 

Something is burning in the room, making his nose tickle and his head light. Lips are moving in front of him, going in and out of focus, but the voice seems distant.

_ Focus on the eyes _ , Liam tells himself. He stares at the dark brown eyes looking at him. Zayn’s eyes. They are warm usually, right now burning. There is no cruelty in them, no amusement when Liam flinches away from him. But there is something in them that makes Liam’s stomach twist with guilt.

“You cannot let Malik have your soul,” he hears. “It already belongs to me, you said it yourself.”

Liam had tossed and turned each night throughout the last few weeks from dreams of Zayn’s face forming into Malik’s. Dreams where he has taken Zayn’s hand into his own to trace the lifeline of his palm before looking up and seeing Malik there instead. Dreams of bedding Zayn, feeling the hard of his body pressed underneath him, those soft gasps he makes in his ear, before pulling back to see Malik there below him.

Dreams where Liam takes the revenge he has burning inside of him with a knife in Malik’s chest, moments before looking up at his face to realize it is Zayn dying before him. It could very much end up in the same result, regardless of who Liam actually stabs. 

“Everything that has happened has been to bring us together. It has all been for you and me. When you look at my face, remember that. Not him.”

Liam reaches out to take Zayn’s cheek into his palm. Malik’s face flashes before his eyes and he struggles to push it away, to keep his hand gentle and not strike against him like everything inside of him tells him to do.

“Niall will take ye home,” Liam breathes, “Go back to ye sisters.”

He is not afraid to beg for Zayn to leave. He is afraid of hurting him. Terrified enough that being away from Zayn, as much as that hurts, feels better than being near him. 

Zayn is closer, suddenly, hovering above him. He feels as if he has taken too much opium, or maybe it is the fever, finally pulling him away. He wants it to, but he also wants to focus on the press of Zayn’s body against his. Thighs tight around his waist, hips pressed together, and gentle fingers against his jaw.

“My home is here,” Zayn tells him as he slides a palm over Liam’s chest.

“I feel like I could die without yer touch,” Liam breathes. “But I feel as if it could kill me as well.”

Liam shivers as Zayn’s fingers drag over the length of his neck. His whole body pulses with the beat of his heart, the sound of it loud in his ears. It grows as he eyes over every line of Zayn’s face, making note of every difference from Malik.

He had not seen the resemblance before and he does not want to see it any longer. 

“Well do you want me to stop touching you then?”

Zayn’s fingers slide through his hair, rubbing at his scalp to pull Liam forward until the tip of their noses touch. It is a simple touch, but Liam’s body shivers in response.

It has been hard lying beside Zayn without being able to make love to him. Zayn wraps around him when he sleeps, tucks himself into Liam’s body, sometimes making those soft gasps in his sleep. Liam has gone mad with want, but his fear of being asleep and dreaming, or worse - being awake and acting the way he does in his dreams, keeps him from touching his husband. 

“I see his face when I look at you,” Liam admits with shame, closing his eyes as he is unable to admit the truth to Zayn while looking at him. “I canna be a husband to ye if I canna look at ye, if I canna give ye pleasure when ye want it. And if I ever hurt ye, Zayn - I vowed to keep ye safe but I never thought I’d need to keep ye safe from myself.”

Zayn presses a finger to his lips. There is music somewhere far away. It sounds like Zayn’s voice, the same unfamiliar song he had sang to him at Griffin’s house.

“Look at me,” Zayn says. “I am your husband; you have to do as I tell you.”

Liam flickers his eyes open. Zayn’s are soft and bright. There are tears building over the red rims. It makes his chest ache. 

“Dinna cry Sassenach,” Liam pleads. He curls his arms around Zayn’s back, tightening him to his chest. _ Focus on the eyes _ , he reminds himself. 

“I am not in love with you because I like your cock, Liam,” Zayn breathes. His lips tilt up slightly, another difference from Malik. When Malik smiles it is twisted, disturbing. “It is an added benefit. And I know you won’t hurt me.”

“My cock likes you,” Liam sighs. His body feels too tired for laughter, but he wants it. He wants to laugh because it always makes Zayn laugh. “I want ye now, Sassenach. Keep touching me until I no longer see his face.”

Zayn makes an obnoxious snorting noise, but his hands roam over Liam’s neck and chest. “I think the opium is getting to your head. You are too weak. You need rest. You do not feel as hot, but I don’t want to risk it.”

“Opium?” Liam asks, as his weight heavies against the wall where he rests. Exhaustion is heavy, but he is afraid of sleep. Zayn’s fingers rub at the muscles of his arms and his lips tickle over his jaw. He never answers the question, but he keeps talking and singing, until Liam falls asleep without thought of Captain Malik. 

*

The cold air makes Zayn’s face tight and teeth chatter. He had not thought about grabbing his cloak when he woke to Liam no longer beside him. He had jumped up in only his thin, ripped shirt, and stalked out of the Abbey. 

The bastard had climbed out of the window. Zayn woke to the chill blowing in from outside, saw a streak of blood on the window sill. Zayn wasn’t confident that getting Liam high was the best treatment, but Niall insisted it was the only way to rid demons. 

“Liam fucking Payne!” 

In the distance, he sees the shape of his husband, standing there with only his pants on. His temperature had dropped as Zayn lulled him to sleep. It was the only thing that made him think that Niall had been right. That and the fact that he kept down his breakfast the next morning, and though he didn’t eat much for dinner, he kept that down as well.

“Are you trying to get sick again in this cold? I told you I am not leaving, even if you have a fascination with your own death.”

Liam’s lips pull up as Zayn pushes in front of him with annoyance. “I watched ye sleep for a long time. I dinna see his face.”

Zayn softens at the fragile insecurity on Liam’s face. He curls his arms around Liam’s neck so his chest presses against Liam’s icy cold one. “Do you see it now?”

“No,” Liam murmurs as he wraps his own arms around Zayn’s lower back. “Ye have a much prettier face, Sassenach. I dinna ken why it is so hard for me to see how different ye look.”

Zayn hesitates before sliding his lips against Liam’s. He doesn’t want Liam to see Malik’s face again and react as aggressively as he had done the night before. “Are you well enough to head to Paris in the morning?”

Liam nods. “I am quite well. I wanna show ye something. Alexander says it is for healing. It is where I went after our meal this morning.”

Liam takes Zayn’s hand into his own before tugging him along the alleyways around the abbey and down a arched pathway that descends into the ground. 

“A hot spring,” Zayn says in amazement as he eyes the pool of steaming water. “Under the Abbey?”

“Aye,” Liam says with a grin of mischief. His hands go to the button of his pants. “Care to join me? Ye could use some healing as well. I ken tending to me was no easy ordeal.”

Liam turns then as he strips off his clothing. His wounds have scabbed over, and though it is not a pleasant sight and he would prefer Liam did not have them at all, he fonds over how beautiful Liam is all together - the strength of his back and shoulders, the smooth round of his bum.

“I rather not tend to you so often but I will without hesitation,” Zayn tells him softly as Liam steps into the water.

Liam walks in until the water is snug around his waist before he turns. His grin broadens before he falls in, his arms floating out around him. “Will ye join me Sassenach? Or shall I beg?” 

Before Zayn can answer and tell him that he should, Liam dunks his head under the water and swims backwards. Zayn grips the collar of his shirt before tugging it off. There is a chill still lingering on his skin from outside, but the damp, warm air surrounding him fights it off. 

The spring is surprisingly deep. Zayn gasps in surprise at the drop, the water rising to his shoulders. The water ripples around him, but Liam has disappeared under the water. 

He jumps at Liam’s sudden hands on him before Liam emerges behind him, so close that his chest tickles against his back. Liam’s palms slide up his sides before circling around his chest. 

“I said I dinna understand how ye could be here but I do believe it is to be with me,” Liam whispers, before his lips find the curve of Zayn’s neck. “God created me for ye, and made sure ye found me.”

Zayn sinks back against him as he reaches to cup a hand around the back of Liam’s head. Heat pools through him but he shivers as Liam’s teeth graze over his skin. His hardness presses against Zayn’s bare bum, but there is no eagerness in his touch. 

“Who would have kent it,” Liam goes on, his lips tickling over his shoulder, “That I have lived twenty four years without a heart.”

Zayn turns in Liam’s arms to wrap his own around his shoulders. Liam slides a wet hand over his jaw, pulling him in for a kiss. 

“It is not humanly possible to live without a heart,” Zayn breathes against his lips. He feels Liam smile against them.

“Well I am verra much alive, thanks to you Sassenach, yet here I am with my heart outside of my body.”

Fondness makes Zayn’s chest ache, but this time it is a feeling he doesn’t want to go away. “Okay, Pablo.” 

Liam pulls back to look at Zayn with a quirked eyebrow. “Pablo?” 

“‘I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this,’” Zayn recites, before peppering a kiss across Liam’s jaw, “‘in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.’”

Zayn dips his chin to mouth at Liam’s birthmark, but he feels Liam’s body tense in front of him. “A lover said that to ye? Pablo?”

Zayn snorts loudly, his body shaking with laughter. Liam laughs weakly above him, holding him tight against his chest. “It is from a poem, a - um - sonnet.” 

“Oh,” Liam breathes in relief. “Maybe he wrote it for us, as we are one.” 

Zayn clings onto Liam as strong hands grip the back of his thighs to pull him up. He wraps his legs around Liam’s waist as Liam guides him backwards. 

“When I make love to ye, Sassenach,” Liam starts, his hands gripping onto Zayn’s bum until their hips are pressed tightly together, “our bodies connected, it feels as if we are one.”

Zayn quiets Liam with a kiss, an eager one fueled by the firing of nerves inside of him. He ruts against him, trembling at the feel of Liam’s hard length sliding against his own. 

“When I feel yer heart beating against my chest, I canna tell if it is yers or my own,” Liam whispers, his voice hitched as he grinds back against Zayn. “When ye exhale it feels as if my lungs are filling with air for the first time.”

Zayn exhales out a shaky moan against Liam’s lips. Liam’s words make him feel overwhelmed, like his heart no longer fits inside of his chest. “‘I love your feet, only because they walked upon the earth and upon the wind and upon the waters, until they found me.’” 

“Pablo?” Liam breathes as he lifts Zayn higher. Zayn parts his lips to respond, but it is a sigh of pleasure that passes them as Liam’s mouth sucks gently against his collar bone. Gooseflesh appears over his wet skin where the cooler air touches him, his nipples hardening under Liam’s mouth as he kisses him lower.

“Your hand,” Zayn reminds him as he feels Liam’s good hand slide over the back of his thigh. Most of Zayn’s weight is supported on Liam’s forearm, and the muscles in his shoulders bulge every time he moves.

“Ye will need to help me ready ye for my cock, Sassenach.”

Liam whispers the words against his chest as his lips brush over him. Pleasure pours down Zayn’s spine at the sound of his husky voice, and the anticipation to have Liam inside him again.

Zayn’s back pushes against something wet and solid and Liam crowds him against it, his body slipping so the crooks of his legs settle in the crooks of Liam’s arm. He can feel the stretch in the muscles of his back thighs, but it is quiet under the static of arousal coursing through him.

Liam’s eyes are intense on him as Zayn reaches between them to touch himself. His lips, parted and swollen, release soft moans that follow every gasp that pass Zayn’s own lips. Those thick brows press together as he watches Zayn, his forehead wrinkling. It is the same face he makes a moment before he comes, and anticipation builds inside of him to feel Liam’s release.

“Ye look beautiful pleasin’ yerself, Sassenach,” Liam says in wonder. Zayn shakes against him as he presses his weight into the wall behind him and Liam’s arms tighten around his legs to pull Zayn’s bum higher up his torso. “But I need ye.”

Zayn slips his fingers from himself, relaxing his weight into Liam and not the wall. He could stretch himself more, but he is moans in relief as Liam presses against him. Liam takes it slow, pressing the tip of his dick against him as he crushes him between the stone wall and his body.

Zayn clings to his shoulders, pressing Liam’s chest closer to him. He feels as if Liam cannot get close enough, even as he pushes deeper.

“Oh,” Liam breathes, knocking his nose against Zayn’s. “Oh,  _ mo chridhe _ . Dinna move.”

Zayn breathes heavily as Liam bottoms out and stills against him. Liam ducks forward to tickle his lips over Zayn’s jaw, his breath heavy against his skin. 

Zayn clenches around him, tugging out a harsh moan from Liam. He trembles against him, and Zayn starts to worry holding him up like this is straining on him, but Liam’s hips pull back and fuck back into him so quickly that all his worried thoughts vanish.

Their foreheads press together as Liam strokes into him, their harsh breathes exchanging. The water ripples and splashes around them, the heat of it making sweat pour down their bodies. Zayn’s hands slip over Liam as they try to grip into his slick skin before Liam’s arms pull from underneath his legs.

Zayn wraps them around Liam to keep them close. Liam strokes into him slowly, the drag of his cock inside of him maddening before he pulls out. “Turn around, Sassenach.”

Zayn can barely feel his legs as they float down until his feet find the ground, but the pressure of Liam’s body and the buoyant water keep him from slipping underneath.

Liam’s hand grips his thigh to drag it up as his body presses Zayn’s front to the stone, Zayn’s forearm pressed between the wall and his head. He is gentle as he strokes back into Zayn, his lips pressing against the corner of Zayn’s mouth.

“Touch yerself.”

Zayn presses his hips back against Liam as he reaches between his legs without hesitation. Liam’s lips cascade across his back, his moans warming over his skin. 

He comes with Liam’s name on his tongue and Liam’s voice in his ear, whispering quiet praisals he cannot understand but his words are so coated in fondness that Zayn melts against him. 

His legs are shaky and hard to move as they leave the spring to settle back into their room. Liam supports him with a tight arm around his. He tends to Zayn when they return, stripping off his shirt and replacing it with a thicker one, even helping him untie his hair despite Zayn’s insistence he doesn’t need help.

“Ye tended to me and I will tend to ye,” Liam explains as he runs his fingers through Zayn’s hair. “Ye are my master as I am yers.”

Zayn’s fingers grip into Liam’s shirt to tug him along as he walks backwards. They leave in the morning, in only a few hours time since the sun is already starting to peek over the horizon, but they can sleep on the ship.

He presses Liam against the mattress as he climbs over him. “‘As if you were fire within, the moon is in the lining of your skin.’”

*

The moment they step onto another ship, the queasy look returns on Liam. It makes Zayn nervous. He believes Liam to be in full health again, but he had gotten so sick so suddenly that he, for the first time, does not trust himself that he treated Liam properly. 

The wind whips at his hair, making his skin feel dry and chafed, but Liam kisses over his cheek like he doesn’t notice or care.

“I have been meaning to ask ye something, Sassenach,” Liam starts hesitantly, his eyes flicking between Zayn and the sky. “Ye being from the future, ye ken if the Bonnie Prince takes the throne, no?”

Zayn stiffens. There is only curiosity on Liam’s face as he asks it. Liam had said he did not care who took the throne, and Zayn believes that, but he knows Liam will care about the death toll, and the depletion of Highlander culture. He knew, like Harry, there would be a time that Liam would ask, but he never prepared an answer.

“He does not. He cannot,” Zayn says quietly. Niall and Harry are on the other side of the boat, embraced as they are. He worries the wind will take his words and send them to Niall’s ear. “King George will stay on the throne, and lots of men will die. Highlander clansmen.”

Liam makes a thoughtful  _ humph _ noise as he takes Zayn’s hand into his to trace his palm. “I ken it well that Niall will fight in every battle that he can.”

Zayn pulls Liam’s hand to his chest, holding it tight. “You cannot fight with him. You will be fighting a losing battle, a battle that will end in the loss of your culture. Everything that makes you  _ you _ . Whole clans will be wiped out.”

Liam’s brows crunch together in confusion but he doesn’t press Zayn for an explanation. Instead he moves closer to tuck his chin on top of Zayn’s head. “Dinna fash,  _ mo duinne _ . We will play our part, and when the time comes, we will decide. I can make no promises now.”

Zayn shakes his head frantically as he tucks his face into Liam’s neck. “I did not spend the last month making you well just for you to die on me in a stupid battle. We have to stop it, Liam. The uprising.”

Liam pulls away then, bewilderment on his face.“The two of us, ye mean? I dinna ken about that, Sassenach.”

A frantic chatter runs through Zayn. He is quite sure the Battle of Cullodeen Moor sometime this year, later in the year. Zayn wants to spend the rest of his life with Liam.

It is a thought he cannot bare. He does not trust Liam not to fight beside his family if the time comes to it. It is something he loves about Liam, but something he hates at the same time. He has not thought they could change the future, but now he has a reason to try. 

“Charlie is in France, isn’t he? I heard Niall mention it. I do not think he realizes that ‘Stuart’ is the same in Gaelic and English,” Zayn goes on quickly. “We can try to stop it before it happens. Convince him that he will not win or, or - I do not know, make sure he cannot build the funds or support he needs.”

Liam clasps his hands around Zayn’s face. “Calm yerself, Sassenach,” he says gently, “I give ye my word we can try. But changing the future, I dinna ken it is possible so try is all I can promise ye.” 

“Neither is traveling through time two hundred and fifty years,” Zayn reminds him.

Liam huffs out a laugh. “Ye are correct, my love. I will talk to Niall about the Bonnie Prince and we will strategize how to stop him.”

Zayn glances at Niall far off, his face bright with laughter as he wraps his arms around Harry’s shoulders. He has seen them open and lovey together before, but it has been nonstop since they have left Scotland. Harry’s brightness had shined even stronger since. He doesn’t think it would ever return if he were to lose Niall. 

“Okay,” Zayn sighs, “but talk to him before the sea bothers your stomach. You will be bedridden as soon as it happens and I will have to tend to you again.”

Liam giggles, his shoulders shrugging up as he does. “Will ye tend to me now? Before I become too foul for ye to kiss?” 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the delay! I have been having trouble with my computer, there are times when I cannot turn it on and sometimes it doesn't stay on very long so it makes it difficult to post. I am hoping it doesn't get in the way too much, but I'm just letting you guys know if the next few chapters are off schedule as well. You all are very wonderful about never making me feel bad about the chapters being late, so thank you so much<3 
> 
> (It's also one reason I haven't responded to any comments in awhile. I kind of hate doing it on my phone but I'm going to do it right now after I post this!)

“Just the sight of the ships make me ache,” Liam mumbles in Zayn’s ear, the sound of a smile in his voice. Despite the early hour, the docks are busy as they walk along with their arms linked, past the merchant ships unloading and reloading stock, crewmen rushing by with barrels and little bairns chasing after them.

“Which ship is your cousin’s?” Zayn asks, as he rests his head against Liam’s shoulder. The hesitancy that had been between them is no longer, and he finds it difficult to not touch Liam every chance he gets.  

“That one there,” Liam explains, pointing to a ship far off. “Ruth’s. A wee bit more secretive about being a Jacobite than others ye have met, she is. I only ken it because of Niall. The Prince’s private correspondence go through her, and many others, of course. More secure, ye ken. Keep it from English fingers.”

Zayn grips his own English fingers tighter around Liam’s arm. Liam’s voice is barely a whisper, a precaution even though the loud noise of the crewmen around them would make it hard for anyone to eavesdrop.

“She can vouch for us,” Liam goes on, “help us make some connections with the Jacobites, connect us with the Prince himself, perhaps.”

Zayn’s stomach jitters with nerves. He had meant it when he told Liam they should stop the uprising from happening, but the more he has thought about it, the more he has realized he does not know how to start doing that. The Highlanders had won the first few battles against the British and Liam had taken this as a great sign, but Zayn does not know why they won or why they went on to lose.

“Will ye wait with Paddy, Sassenach? I dinna mean offense but -”

Zayn pushes on his toes to kiss Liam quiet. “Go. I am fine out here.”

Liam looks at Paddy for confirmation, only to receive a grunt in response before he jogs up to the ship. Zayn awkwardly turns to Paddy, whose closed-off face gives him little knowledge as to whether he is in the mood for small talk or not.

“Have you been to Paris before?”

Paddy nods. “Oui,” he grunts, crossing his arms over his chest. “The young lord took off to become a mercenary for the French Army after he escaped the prison. He was no here a month before I arrived and he had already fled back to Scotland wi’ his tail between his legs.”

“The army?” Zayn asks in disbelief. “Whatever for?”

“I dinna ken,” Paddy grumbles, “he returned to Scotland after a mishap with one of the royal ladies here. The lad is trouble, I tell - hey!”

Paddy surges for him suddenly and Zayn ducks, but it is not him that Paddy reaches for. His meaty hand drops on the small shoulder of a little boy with curls so long that he has to push them away with his forearm when he looks up at Paddy in surprise.

“Ye scoundrel! Give me that!” Paddy demands as he takes the boy’s hand into his own to pry his fingers open, revealing the wooden dog.

Zayn gasps as he reaches for the pouch hanging from his belt in response. “A pickpocket!” he exclaims, as he bends forward until he is eye level with the little boy. “And how old are you?”

That meaty hand stays firm on the boy’s shoulder as Zayn talks to him and he does not struggle against it. The boy speaks with confidence and little shame, his chin tilted and eyes challenging as they into Zayn’s. “ _J’ai neuf ans, monsieur_.”

“Nine years old. And what do you need my wooden toy for?”

The boy looks a little taken aback when Zayn speaks French, but he does not lose his determined look. “Why, to play with, of course.”

Zayn sighs as he reaches into his pocket. “Give me your hand.” In the center of the little boy’s palm, he places a small coin. The boy’s eyes grow wide and bright as his fingers close around it. “Go on and buy your own toy. I am very attached to mine.”

“ _Oui, oui. Merci beaucoup, monsieur._ ”

There is a look of disapproval on Paddy’s face as Zayn stands, but he lets the boy go. The little one does not say another word, but turns on his heels and runs off. There are other things he should buy other than a toy, like food or something to clean himself with, and Zayn finds himself worrying about him as he disappears from sight.

“Rewarding a thief, aye?”

Zayn tucks his cold hands into the pockets of his cloak, turning to look at the ship and not Paddy so he knows his refusal to respond.

“Mhmph. Do I get a reward for stopping the wee bastard?”

Zayn grins as he bows his head towards Paddy. “Thank you kindly. I would have been terribly upset if I had lost it.”

It seems like forever until Liam finally emerges from the ship with a woman behind him. Her eyes are narrowed, seemingly suspicious as they land on Zayn but she has a kind smile when Liam makes introductions.

She turns to say something to Liam as she lets Zayn’s hand go. A tension builds around them at the word Malik, with Paddy stepping protectively behind Zayn and Liam’s body going rigid.

Actively learning Gaelic seems to be necessary, Zayn thinks, as he watches the tense exchange between Liam and his cousin. It is clear they are speaking of him, as every so often Liam glances his way.

“My cousin here says she will be more than happy to arrange a meeting with the prince,” Liam starts, before he presses his lips together. The corners of his mouth drag down before he speaks again. “But ye must accompany us.”

Zayn jabs a finger to his chest to indicate himself. “Me? I am afraid I do not know much in the ways of politics.”

Ruth waves her hand in dismissal. “Isna politics that will interest the young prince about ye. Prince Guillaume as well. Ye have quite a bonnie face, lad.”

A gentle finger runs across his cheek as Ruth looks at him in appreciation, causing Liam’s arm to slide possessively behind him, his hand flattening against his spine.

“Our carriage is here. Come then.”

Zayn looks at Liam for explanation as they follow after Ruth, but he isn’t given one. Instead, Liam’s eyes are set ahead as if he cannot look at Zayn.

“If you are planning on pimping me out to these princes so they can do to me as they please, I am telling you now, Liam Payne, I will not forgive you,” Zayn whispers angrily. “And I will not allow it.”

The look in Liam’s eyes is not anger when he finally looks at him, but frustration. “I dinna ken the meaning of ‘pimping’, Sassenach, but ye ken I would rather take a sword to the chest before I let a man touch ye.”

“Well?” Zayn demands.

Liam huffs out as he squeezes his arm around him tighter. “The prince of France appreciates beautiful things, Zayn, and ye are the most bonnie lad he will ever lay his eyes on. It will be in our favor. As for the other, Ruth suspects he will take an interest because ye look like a Malik.”

The muscle over Liam’s jaw jumps as he looks away again, making Zayn’s heart fill with sadness. There are small moments here and there where Liam looks at him as if he is seeing the Captain again, or where he will not look at him at all. There were even times when they were intertwined together below deck, making their cot rock more than the boat did, when Liam would suddenly turn away from him.

Though it has been difficult, Zayn has tried to be patient with Liam, and he does not want anyone making it harder for him by bringing up the captain.

“And why does that matter?”

“I dinna ken. But I will find out.”

*

The mansion Ruth brings them to is much cozier than Castle Leoch, but more lavish than Liam’s home. So lavish and clean looking, in fact, that Ruth does not seem to fit in with her grubby, smelly clothes.

Massive oil paintings cover the walls and the chairs look so expensive that Zayn is hesitant to sit on them. When he does, he grimaces at the hard, round shape of the cushion underneath his bum.

“Taking charge of Ruth’s company while she is in Spain will help build our relationship with Jacobite supporters. Dinner parties, as well.”

Liam paces around the dining room as Zayn watches on quietly. He stops here and there to pull bottles of wine from Ruth’s wine shelf, looking at them with a curious glance before sliding them back into place.

“There is word that Charlie is here to secure wages for the cause, from the Master of Finance himself. I am sure he is in favor of a pretty face as well.”

Liam’s eyes shine so brightly when he laughs that Zayn cannot find it in himself to be angered with him. “I dinna mean it, Sassenach. But it is important that we dissuade him from funding the prince’s cause if the rumor is true.”

Liam pads over to Zayn before falling onto his knees before him. As if in sync with him, Zayn’s legs spread to accommodate him as Liam takes his hands into his own. “Would ye like to accompany me when I speak with him? I give ye my word it is no just because ye have the face ye do.”

Zayn leans forward until their foreheads are pressed together. Liam does not look away, but holds his gaze until the corners of his lips quirk upwards. “If you want me there, I will be there. But I must fetch some more supplies for my medical kit. Tending to you has depleted it.”

Liam plops a kiss to his lips. “Make haste, Sassenach. I could fall apart without ye.”

The local apothecary is a short ride from Ruth’s home. Liam had argued with him about venturing alone until Zayn finally gave in and agreed to have Paddy follow behind because he knows Liam would have sent Paddy regardless.

The carriage stops in front of a small shop with a blank white sign above the door. Zayn frowns at its familiarity before pushing the door open.

A bell chimes above him and a strong smell of something burning fills his nose. Paddy does not wait outside as promised, but pushes in beside him with a small grunt.

“I dinna trust witches.”

“Witches?” Zayn whispers in question. A question that is answered the moment a familiar face pops up before him.

“Monsieur Payne, if I remember correctly?”

Louis Tomlinson’s bright eyes are just as curious as they had been when they had first met but the thick French accent is different. He had been Scottish the last time they had met.

“Mister Tomlinson,” Zayn utters in surprise. The last time he had seen Louis, Harry had told him about the rumors of Louis being a fairy from the stones and that the men of Clan Horan had suspected the same of Zayn. “What are you doing in France?”

The response Zayn receives is nothing more than a dramatic sigh before Louis turns and walks towards his countertop. “I am afraid the youngest of the Horan brothers was not too pleased with my involvement with that ill wish. And some rumors of me became a bit too loud. I believed it best I make myself scarce.”

When he turns again, he claps his hands flat onto the counters with a smile on his lips. “But it is not a worry, I love the city of Paris. Now how can I be of assistance, Monsieur Payne?”

“I need some supplies for my medicine bag. And do you perhaps have any suggestions for someone who suffers from fitful sleep?”

Louis clicks his teeth before dipping below the counter again. There is the sound of bottles clanging against each other before Louis emerges with a small vial in hand.

“This should do the trick. A bit on the tip of the finger before bed. Not to be used with alcohol or laudanum. Increases the potency, you see.”

Zayn takes the vial into hand with hesitancy. “What is it?” he asks as he unscrews the top. He snaps his head away from the vial the moment the potent scent hits his nose. “That is foul.”

Louis giggles. “Like cheese, I have always thought. _Valerina officinalis_. It is quite effective for insomnia. If it is for that husband of yours I would suggest two doses. A bit of an oaf, he is.”

“How did you know?”

Louis wiggles his eyebrows ominously. “I know many things, Monsieur Payne. But I am not a witch, as your friend there presumes. Now, what else may I get for you?”

Zayn remembers the rumor of Louis being able to read minds as he lists off the items he needs. He follows after Louis as he picks items off the shelves and plops them into a wicker basket he carries. Paddy watches them as they move around, seemingly unsettled as he fidgets or attempts to follow after them before stopping and staying where he is posted by the door.

“My shop here is just as busy as the one in Scotland. There is a hospital nearby that is always looking for volunteers if you find yourself with time on your hands. Mother Watson is none too keen of my healing powers. Says it is work of the devil.”

“Healing powers? Also, agrimony, if you have it?”

“Oh yes,” Louis goes on, throwing a proud smile over his shoulder at Zayn as he pushes onto his toes to reach the agrimony from a high shelf. “She does not believe one can suffer so severely from emotion. Do you?”

Zayn thinks of how Liam’s health depleted so quickly after hallucinations of Malik, the strength and anger in his touch when he did not see Zayn when he looked at him.

“I do.”

“I thought you would. It is a simple process - the healing, that is. Do you know what an aura is?”

Louis stares at Zayn expectantly as he places the agrimony into the basket. “A bit of foxglove as well, and that should do it. I believe I know of auras, but I cannot say I know what they have to do with healing.”

Louis clicks his tongue a few times before turning and stalking off. Zayn follows with a quick glance at Paddy over his shoulder, who glares back at him before he turns to the right, past a short stack of shelves, and Paddy disappears from view.

“It is an ancient method,” Louis says, with a hint of surprise in his voice. Many of the shelves surrounding them contain unlabeled items and items that look to be parts of humans or animals. Zayn wrinkles his nose as he spots what appears to be a jar of finger bones. “Centuries old. You are surrounded by green, the color of the forests, like those jewels you wear in your ears. I knew you were one who possessed healing powers before we met.”

Zayn does not interrupt, does not tell Louis that he does not have any powers, just a good education and lots of practice. He lets Louis continue as he ponders if Louis really can see green around him.

“With that, we are alike,” Louis says, as he suddenly stops in front of a square table covered in different boxes. He shoves them around before finally finding a small thatch of foxglove tied with a piece of thread. “We are more alike than you know, Monsieur Payne. That is why we shall be friends. Would you like to know the color of your husband’s aura? His changes more than the weather.”

Louis’ energy is overwhelming, but Zayn finds a part of himself is fond of how excitable and talkative Louis is. His curious eyes no longer bother him, as they are now lit with something else entirely. It makes him appear much older than he had before.

“Friends? I suppose that would be alright.”

Paddy emerges from around the shelves, eyes wide with panic until he spots Zayn and his face crumples again. “Where me eyes can see ye, Sassenach.”

“Do not call me that,” Zayn tuts as he walks past Paddy without another word. He hears the man grumbling behind him, but he ignores it. “Even if my shadows may not be too fond of it.”

Louis snorts obnoxiously. “Your husband as well. He is surrounded by red. It turns very cloudy in the presence of me, a sure sign he is not quite fond of me. That day in the shop, if you remember, he was quite polite for a soldier, but his aura revealed his true feelings.”

Though it is not his place, Zayn finds himself wanting to apologize on Liam’s behalf. As if he knows, Louis waves him off. He makes Liam uneasy, as he had once made Zayn.

“Around you,” Louis continues as he steps behind his counter with the basket of supplies, “the moment you touched him, he turned a brilliant shade of red. Quite bright, quite passionate.”

A heat rises from Zayn’s throat and spreads over his cheeks at the smirk Louis gives him. He is still not convinced there are truly colors surrounding him, but just the idea of Liam’s changing around him makes a warmth pour through him.

“You wouldn’t remember who you sold that ill wish to, by any chance?”

“Zayn,” Paddy whispers warningly behind him but Zayn ignores him again. He had nearly forgotten until now. It had seemed minimal compared to the events of the last two months.

“I cannot say I remember the name. A petite thing, maybe just eighteen years of age. She was quite in love with that husband of yours, though I did not realize at the time that she was speaking of Liam.”

Louis taps a finger against his jaw as he ponders her name but Zayn already has one in mind.

“Sophia, maybe?”

Louis snaps his fingers as Paddy cusses behind him. “Yes! I do believe that is it. Your husband did not tell you?”

Zayn grinds his teeth. “No, but a lot has happened since. I am sure it had just slipped his mind.”

“Ah yes, very understandable, it is. If you find that you have more questions, feel free to visit again. But now, I am afraid, your escort seems quite eager to leave.”

Zayn gives his gratitude before leading Paddy impatiently outside. There were many things Zayn had wanted to ask Louis, things about the rumors of Craigh na Dun and him being a fairy, but he had not wanted to ask those questions in front of Paddy.

When they arrive back at Ruth’s home, Zayn wanders through the corridors until he finds Liam sat in the sitting room, a glass of whiskey in hand. His cheeks are red from sitting so close to the fire, and he does not seem to notice Zayn until he clears his voice.

“Ah, Sassenach, come. Did ye get what ye needed?”

“Aye,” Zayn murmurs, as he settles himself on Liam’s lap. “You will never guess who runs the local apothecary?”

Liam lifts a questioning brow as he smooths his hand over the outside of Zayn’s thigh. His touch is innocent and lingering, but there is a heaviness in Liam’s eyes that suggests it will not stay that way for long.

“Louis Tomlinson.”

Zayn feels Liam tense against him, his hand falling still where it is curved around his upper thigh. “Here in France?”

Zayn turns more in his lap to curl an arm around Liam’s shoulders and to inspect the expression on his face. It is not a happy one. “Yes. Is there any reason why you look so miserable because he is here?”

Liam continues the movement of his hand. If he thinks the pressure of his fingers against his inner thigh will distract Zayn, he is wrong. “Ye ken I dinna care for the man, Sassenach.”

Zayn pushes back the loose strands of hair from Liam’s forehead with a gentle touch. In the winter, the red and blond in his hair is not as prominent, making his features appear softer. “Is there a reason? More than him being a fairy? The men said the same of me but you seem to like me just fine.”

Liam huffs out a laugh before tilting his chin up to kiss Zayn’s. “I do like you just fine, but I am no married to Tomlinson.”

His lack of explanation is frustrating, but Zayn tries not to show it. “If we were not married would you dislike me the same?”

“No,” Liam says, with surprise. His fingers draw circles over Zayn’s inner thigh, his touch burning through his clothes. “That is no my meaning! I dinna like telling ye what to do with yerself, Sassenach, but I dinna want ye visiting Louis’s shop again.”

Zayn pulls himself away from Liam angrily. He has not given Sophia a second thought since he had been at the castle, but that worry he had felt there is back suddenly. He is more annoyed with himself for feeling it than he is annoyed at Liam, but Liam is not helping.

“If it is because you are afraid of him telling me who put that ill wish under my pillow, then I regret to inform you that he already has!”

Liam stands after Zayn, confusion clear on his face. “It is no secret, Zayn. I apologize to ye, but I dinna see the importance of it! I dinna have it in mind to return to Castle Leoch and I dinna think ye would be eager to go back, either.”

The sound of heavy boots on the ground alerts them that someone else has joined them, but Zayn does not turn to see who it is. Instead, he crosses his arms over his chest and glares at Liam. “If it is not a secret, then why did you not tell me?”

Strong hands cup his cheeks and Zayn gives into the rough feel of Liam’s touch against his soft skin. He sighs in defeat, letting his eyes fall closed as embarrassment makes his face burn hot.

“It was not long after that I found Paddy, covered in blood. I could no think of anything but finding ye. I was more worried about ye being harmed than -” Liam makes a frustrated noise as he looks over Zayn’s shoulder at whoever entered the room. “Her. She would no harm ye, lad. I apologize I dinna tell ye, but ye dinna ask either.”

Zayn grins before he flicks his eyes open. Liam looks at him warmly, and he wonders if Liam’s aura would be a brilliant shade of red in this moment. “I am sorry. I think the traveling has made me delirious.”

Liam plops a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Rest. The servants will show ye to the room Ruth made up for us. We will discuss Tomlinson later. I will no change my mind about ye returning there.”

Zayn wrinkles his nose. “I _will_ return unless you give me a good reason not to,” he says, before plopping a kiss to Liam’s full lips and pulling away from him. “A healer must have medicine.”

When he finally turns to great their guest, he spots Niall standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. He has the decency to keep his eyes diverted, but Zayn is annoyed that he had stayed and listened to their conversation.

“Niall.”

Niall looks at him with faked surprise, as if he had been unaware of how close Zayn is. “I apologize. I need a word with my cousin. I will no keep him from ye long.”

“Keep him all night if you wish,” Zayn says with a yawn. “I am going to bed.”

*

“After years of talking me out of supporting Charlie, ye are suddenly fighting for the cause?” Niall does not speak angrily, but his hands move in front of them, and every jab in Liam’s direction feels as if it is fueled by anger.

Liam grips his fingers around the edge of the table he rests his bum against as he watches Niall pace around the room. He is careful with his words, and his expression. Niall has known him longer than anyone, can spot the smallest sign that Liam is lying.

Niall is unlikely to believe Liam’s reasonings. Zayn had suggested they tell him, but Liam had not supported it. Niall is as stubborn as he, or even more so.

“If ye remember correctly, cousin, I was tortured by the British army, twice. It is a fact ye are no hesitant to tell the villagers,” Liam explains calmly. “I am still being tortured. I canna make love to my husband without seeing that man’s face. I canna sit alone with myself without feeling the ghost of his whip upon my skin. If Charlie wins the throne, with my assistance, I hope he feels it in favor of hanging Captain Malik.”

Niall watches him speak with narrowed eyes. His expression softens as Liam goes on. “Ye are supporting him in hopes of a favor, aye?’

Liam grins lightly, but his fingers tighten around the table more firmly. “Tis no the only reason, Niall. Since I canna be alone with my own thoughts, I think frequently of the arguments ye have made in Charlie’s favor. I thought ye would be happy to ken I am agreeing.”

Niall does not look happy as he scans Liam up and down with suspicious eyes. “And yer husband? Where does he stand? Ruth told me she would like ye to meet with Charlie if Zayn is present, but ye ken well that -”

Liam holds up a hand to silence Niall before he goes on another rant about how he likes the lad just fine, but he cannot find it in his heart to ever truly trust a sassenach. Not one as strange as Zayn is.

“My husband is no interested in politics, Nialler. I have told ye this many times before and I dinna care to repeat myself. He doesna support King George and he is no Catholic, but he will stand by me in my support of Charlie.”

Niall downs the contents of the glass he holds in his hand before placing the cup on the table beside Liam’s hand. “I suggest ye meet the prince wi’out Zayn the first time. His meetings are held at Madame Jeanne’s. I ken ye will no like seein’ Zayn in a place like that.”

Liam bites the inside of his cheek. When he had been in France before, he had visited Madame Jeanne’s. Not for himself, but as a request of King Guillaume, in search of his youngest brother Prince Philippe. There had been hands on him the moment he stepped inside, whispers of promised pleasure in his ear, and all of it had made him uneasy.

“Why is the prince having his meetings in a brothel?” Liam asks. If he went to a brothel without Zayn, then he surely would have a reason to be angry with him, especially since there are still times he can still barely finish making love to Zayn before he has to pull himself away from him.

Not that he does not have a reason to be angry with Liam about Sophia. Zayn has told him some things about his time, and it sounds so foreign to him that he knows many things here must be different to Zayn. He just wonders how much and how he had never noticed how out of place Zayn must have felt.

“He is unofficially in Paris. He canna be seen by the wrong eyes. I am quite sure he has given Madame Jeanne enough money to keep quiet,” Niall explains, as he pours more dark liquor into his glass. “Stays hidden inside. I suggest ye do the same with Zayn. I have heard whispers about him already, and we have only been here for a day’s time.”

Liam squeezes the table so hard he feels as if it might break. “Many of our own men whispered about Zayn when he first arrived.”

Niall sighs as he settles his bum against the table beside Liam’s. He takes his time tasting his drink before responding. “These are no our men. Our men believed Zayn to be a fairy. These whispers are about him being a Malik.”

Liam releases the table before it breaks and pushes away from it to pour himself a drink. The constant reminder of Zayn looking like a Malik is making it difficult for him to stop seeing the resemblance between him and the Captain. “I dinna understand.”

“And I neither, cousin. I have Harry working with the servants, seeking out information. His French is no verra good, but he is a master at getting information.”

Liam gives Niall a nod of gratitude before downing his own drink. He cannot tell if Niall is suspicious as well. His expression is blank, but that is never a good sign. “Ye ken Ruth said the same about Zayn? She asked me why I would marry a Malik.”

It had caused his mind to go blank when Ruth had mentioned the Captain’s name. He had not been expecting it, and his anger he felt because of it made it difficult to come up with a reasonable reply.

“Aye, she said the prince would take a liking to him because o’ it,” Niall says. “I want to ken the reason that is important.”

Liam hums against the lip of his glass. “Aye, I do as well.”

*

When Zayn wakes, the room is dark. He can spot the moon from where he lays - where he wants to continue laying, as exhaustion still clings onto him. He feels as if he has not slept for decades, and the only way to truly feel himself again is to sleep for another few decades.

Noise startles him into a sitting position. Liam is not beside him, and after he lights the candle on the table beside the bed, the glow allows him to see his boots are sat by the bedroom door and his coat is laid over the vanity chair.

 Zayn climbs out of bed, shivering until he finds his discarded pants and pull them over his legs, cold to the touch. He longs for joggers and hoodies, something more comfortable and warm to sleep in. The stiff fabric of his pants are not comfortable enough, but wearing only a shirt makes him feel as if he is freezing to death.

He wanders through the corridors with a candle in hand until he finds the distant hum of voices coming from the parlor. The brightness of the room when he arrives makes his eyes ache, and he blinks rapidly as Liam appears before him.

“Ye alright, Sassenach? Ye been sleepin’ the day away.”

Warm lips press against his forehead and Zayn leans against Liam’s chest. He is no longer angry about the Sophia thing. Liam had been right - there is no reason to go back to Castle Leoch, she is nothing for him to worry about any longer.

“Come sleep with me?” Zayn offers as Liam runs a fond hand through the mess of hair at the top of his head. His fingers massage over Zayn’s scalp and Zayn hums in response.

Liam gives him a wounded look. “I am afraid I canna. But when I return to ye, _mo graidh_ , I would like to see what ye have in mind.”

“Do you have to go? It is late.”

Zayn twists his fingers into Liam’s shirt to pull him into a kiss. It is a lazy one, with Liam’s fingers tracing over Zayn’s cheeks as he holds him close. Liam hums into it, the sound vibrating against Zayn’s mouth before he pulls away with a heaviness in his eyes.

“Ye make it so hard to leave ye,” Liam whispers before placing a kiss to his forehead. “Harry is in the kitchen. He has been making ye meals in anticipation of you waking. Ye can see he was raised by Bridgette.”

Zayn pulls Liam into another kiss, and Liam obliges, kissing Zayn back until every nerve in his body has sparked and he feels more awake than he did before. Reluctantly, Liam pulls away to leave, his skin flushed.

“I am taking Paddy with me,” Liam says as he walks away from him. “But please dinna stray far alone.”

With a quick promise that he will not, Zayn pads out of the parlor and towards the kitchens, where he does indeed find Harry. He sits upon the countertop again, his arms crossed over his chest as he listens with interest at something a servant in front of him is saying. His face brightens when he spots Zayn, and he hops from the countertop to take his arm into hand.

“I thought ye would never wake up!” Harry says as he tugs him towards a table covered in different plates of food. “We have plenty o’ food. Ruth had a couple o’ Jacobites over for dinner. Ye dinna wake with the noise, I surely thought ye dead.”

Zayn picks at the plate of grapes before plopping one into his mouth. “Do ye know where my husband is off to?”

“No,” Harry murmurs, before he grabs the person he had been speaking to to drag him in front of Zayn. “This here is Lillian Moreau. She is married to Prince Philippe.”

Zayn freezes before bending into a small bow, his hand held out for Lillian. He regrets the state of his hair, which feels like it looks a mess around his head. “It is a pleasure to meet you, your majesty.”

Lillian kisses the back of his hand before Zayn straightens again. She has a kind face, her eyes glazed over enough that Zayn wonders if he has been drinking. “Please, you need not do that again. I am not one for the formalities. And call me Lily, if you would.”

Zayn nods as he glances between Harry and Lily. He wants to know what the princess of France is doing in Ruth’s kitchens, and why she is dressed as a commoner, but it feels rude to ask. “I apologize for my appearance. If I had known -”

Lily cuts him off with a tut of her teeth. She reaches up gently to stroke the thin hairs over Zayn’s jaws. “Your appearance is just fine. Harry here was just telling me about your, erm, mishaps over the last few months. _Apres la pluie le beau temps_ , I hope.”

Zayn smiles unsurely at the queen before turning to glare at Harry, whose eyes are wide and apologetic. “I told her how ye are no safe in Scotland, so Liam brought ye here to protect ye and I came along to take care of ye.”

“A fine job he does,” Zayn murmurs before he takes a piece of bread and shoves it into his mouth so he does not have to continue speaking. Harry, thankfully, takes that as his cue to keep _on_ speaking.

“I met Lily today at the um, apothecary. I thought ye could have been of some assistance. Ye are cheaper than that Tomlinson lad.”

Zayn narrows his eyes at Harry as he continues to chew his bread. Helping the princess with anything could be helpful in getting in King Guillaume’s good graces and potentially getting to the Master of Finance.

“My services are free,” Zayn says, after he swallows. “For a princess as beautiful as you.”

Lily giggles as she swats Zayn in the chest. “We will discuss it after you have filled your belly and have shaken some of that exhaustion of you. It is not of immediate importance.”

“Aye! And the queen here said she would assist me in bein’ hairless,” Harry cheers.

Zayn chokes on the bite he takes, which results in Harry frantically pounding onto his back until he coughs the obstruction up. Tears pool over his eyelids, and he wipes them away as he moves away from Harry. “Whatever do you mean by ‘hairless’?”

Harry nods towards the princess, who excitedly pulls up her skirt. For a moment Zayn panics, wondering if he should turn his eyes away, as it is the princess, but she only lifts the skirt enough to reveal an inch of bare skin above her ankle.

“Hairless,” Harry explains, indicating her ankle. “Everywhere.”

Zayn shoves more bread into his mouth, this time chewing it slower because he is not sure it is a conversation he wants to have. His cheeks bulge slightly but he does not stop pushing more food into his mouth.

“Even the thatch of grass at the base of the tree. Niall will lose his head, I ken it.”

Zayn spits out the bread before he walks away from Harry, his arms raised in defeat. “I do not want to hear any more, Harry.”

Princess Lily rushes after him, grabbing his elbow with thin, but strong fingers. “Oh, do not be that way! Would you like to try a bit of waxing, as well? It is quite common here in France, and that husband of yours will be sure to love your smooth, soft skin.”

Zayn glances down at his palm before he looks to Lily with his response. He has shaved himself before, of course. But he has not in a while, and he is not sure he is okay with a princess he does not know assisting. Or Harry, for that matter.

“Wonderful! Harry, would you see where my companion has run off to? I cannot stand being at that castle, I am so grateful your servant has invited me. Forgive me for my sudden appearance.”

For a moment, he wonders what the reason is that Lily does not want to return to her home. “Do not apologize, Lily. What is it you need assistance with?”

Red burns over Lily’s cheeks as she pulls Zayn close, her slender fingers wrapping over Zayn’s hand to hold him there. “Ye mustn’t tell a soul, but I am search of black hellebore.”

Though difficult, Zayn tries to keep himself from jerking in response. Bridgette had gone through his black hellebore while he had been collecting rent with the clansmen, to discontinue pregnancies in the castle.

“Ye have my word,” Zayn promises. “I believe I have some in my medical bag.”

Lily’s face brightens as she taps her slender fingers against Zayn’s hot cheeks. “Name a price, and I will surely pay it.”

A few hours later, and Zayn is no longer heavy with exhaustion but with wine and lots and lots of bread. When he bids the princess goodbye he sees the French guards stationed along the pathway to Ruth’s front door, waiting to escort her to wherever she lives.

Harry sleeps on the hard couch in the parlor, his long limbs hanging over the sides. After a few unsuccessful attempts at waking him, Zayn wanders to the kitchens for water.

The sound of someone moving around makes his heart jump into his throat. Most of Ruth’s servants have gone to bed after Zayn insisted he did not need anymore assistance for the night.

It is not a servant in the kitchens, but a little boy wearing dirty torn clothes. He stands before the table of food, stuffing his face so quickly he could choke.

“Excuse me?”

The boy jumps and turns around, revealing himself as the boy who had tried to steal Zayn’s wooden dog. His eyes go wide and his face reddens as he swallows the food in his mouth that makes his cheeks bulge.

“And what are you doing here?” Zayn demands, as he crosses his hands over his chest.

“Forgive me, mi’lord. Monsieur Payne sent me and I - I saw a bit of food and my stomach is awfully hungry and -“

Zayn walks over to him before bending down to his level. He cups his hands down gently on the boy’s bony shoulders. “If you eat too fast, your stomach is going to be ridden with awful pain. Now tell me why Monsieur Payne sent you here.”

The boy relaxes some, but there is still nerves lingering on his face as he explains. “He - he said his husband was in need of an assistant and - and if I was interested, I could have my own bed. He told me to find you straight away and please forgive me that I did not.”

Warmth fills Zayn as he wipes the curls from the boy’s face. His skin is just as dirty as his clothes. “Do not apologize. You may have your own bed but you must wash first. What is your name?”

“Olivier.”

“And where did you meet my husband?”

“Madame Jeanne’s,” Olivier explains. “I sleep below the stairs but it is far too busy there tonight to sleep. Monsieur Payne caught me there picking the pockets of the patrons. I have never been caught before today.”

“Did you pick his pocket?”

“ _Non_ ,” Olivier insists frantically. “I did try but they were empty. I have not met a man who has gone to a brothel with empty pockets.”

Zayn falls back onto his feet. Brothel? He wants to ask the boy what Liam was doing there, but if he remembers correctly, the boy is nine, and too young to deal with Zayn’s worries.

Nine and living in a brothel. Zayn understands why Liam sent him here.

Zayn cups his cheek gently. “Come on. A bath, and then you may eat more, but only if you promise to take your time.”

His buzz from the wine is gone by the time Olivier is done with his bath. There had been a fight about using the soap until Zayn took over, and Olivier had stopped fighting once he saw the water turn to grime.

“What will you be needing assisting with?” Olivier asks through his chattering teeth as Zayn helps him with his clothes. They are too big, the sleeves falling inches past his hands and the pant legs needing to be rolled, but it is the smallest he could find while searching Ruth’s house.

“I am not sure,” Zayn admits with a laugh. “Go and sleep. In the morning I will have an answer.”

“I can sleep in your room?”

Zayn grins as he buttons the shirt. “I thought you wanted your own bed?”

Olivier’s eyes go wide. “I-I do. Just tonight?”

“Alright, fine,” Zayn says, as he wiggles his fingers through his wet curls. Liam will have to sleep somewhere else, anyway.

Olivier falls asleep only moments after Zayn tucks him in. He stays with him for a few minutes, until the ache of missing his sisters finds him again.

He paces restlessly through the hallway until he hears the sound of Liam and Paddy’s return. There must be a reason that Liam would go to a brothel, but when he sees Liam he keeps his pressing questions quiet, too tired for another argument.

There is a sweet perfume lingering on Liam as Liam crowds him against the hallway wall without hesitation. His smile is bright, his cheeks bulging from it.

“What are ye doing out here, Sassenach?” Liam whispers as he nuzzles his nose against Zayn’s jaw. “I thought ye would be sleeping.”

Zayn grips onto the brim of Liam’s pants to keep him close, savoring the pressure of his body against him. “There is a little boy sleeping in my bed. Care to explain?”

Liam chuckles softly before pressing a soft kiss to Zayn’s throat. “He is nothin’ but bone and dirt, living in a place that is no right for a bairn.”

“Yes, a brothel,” Zayn says in annoyance.

Liam pulls back to look at him with an irritating grin on his lips. “Aye. He said he was born there but doesna have parents.”

“What were you doing at a brothel in the first place, Liam?”

His fingers are gentle as they curl around Zayn’s wrists to press them above his head. A spark drags down Zayn’s spine as Liam’s lips find his, washing away any irritation he had a moment before. Liam is hard when he presses against him, from his chest to his hips.

“Thinking of you,” Liam breathes before nipping at Zayn’s bottom lip. “Missing you.”

A soft moan passes Zayn’s lips as Liam’s hips arch against him. He does not mind being pinned against the wall with Liam surrounding every inch of him. “At a brothel?”

“I dinna touch a soul,” Liam promises quietly, his forehead pressing against Zayn’s as he works his hips against his. Though thick fabric separates them, Zayn shivers from the friction between his legs. “I was there to speak to the Bonnie Prince.”

Liam’s face appears cool and collected, only a slight pinch between his brows as his hips roll down against Zayn’s. Zayn knows his own is not as his lips are parted around harsh breaths, and his head knocks against the wall with every thrum of arousal shooting through him.

“Ye may accompany us when we meet tomorrow and I will explain,” Liam goes on, hissing as Zayn’s nails dig into the back of his hands. “I want to touch ye verra badly, Sassenach, if ye are no longer angered with me.”

Ducking forward, Zayn captures Liam’s pouted lips with his own. The grip on his wrists releases, allowing Zayn to curl his hands around the back of Liam’s neck to keep their lips locked. Liam’s hands travel down his sides, rucking his shirt from his pants.

Anticipation rolls through him as Liam works at the button of his pants, his lips traveling over the slope of Zayn’s throat. His sharp breaths feel loud in the open corridor, but he cannot control them, though his teeth dig into his bottom lip in an attempt to.

“Ye dinna answer,” Liam murmurs, as his fingers slip under the material to slide it over Zayn’s hips. “Are ye angered with me or no? I hate the thought of it. If ye need me to get on my knees and beg ye for forgiveness, Sassenach, I will.”

Zayn huffs out a laugh as he pulls his fingers through Liam’s curls. The roughness of Liam’s fingertips creates a path of gooseflesh over his thighs, making them part wide to allow him room touch him where he aches.

“If you must,” Zayn teases. “But no, I am not angered with you.”

The moment Liam’s fingers slide between his legs, Zayn feels him go tense. The rough pads of his fingertips slide over Zayn’s newly-waxed skin for a moment before Liam pulls back to look at him. It is adorable, the way his brows furrow in confusion, and an innocent expression of alarm takes over his face.

“Zayn! What have ye done to yerself?”

Zayn rolls his hips into Liam’s touch, needing him to wrap his fingers around him but he continues to tickle over the bare skin instead. “Do you like it? I did my legs as well.”

The perplexed look on Liam’s face makes his body shake with laughter. “Ye are bare, Sassenach.”

“Yes, would you like me to explain the process or are you going to -?”

He is interrupted with a soft kiss before Liam is sliding to his knees as promised. Liam’s hands smooth over his bare thighs and lower, tickling over his calves in wonder. “Ye are a brave man. Surely this must have caused ye great pain.”

It is obscene the way Liam’s lips look pressing to his inner thigh, his eyes fluttering shut. He feels exposed in the open corridor, though the candles around them are dim. He curls his fingers around himself, squeezing around the base of his cock to ease the pressure building inside of him. “No, my need for you to touch me causes me greater pain.”

Liam’s lips quirk up against his skin before he tilts his chin to look at Zayn in the eye. Zayn bites at his bottom lip to keep in his gasp as Liam’s mouth parts, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “Dinna be easy with me, Sassenach.”

*

Zayn has to constantly assure Olivier that he does not need to sneak food. The boy looks uncomfortable sitting at the dining table with them, his innocent eyes watching every move Zayn makes before mimicking it himself.

He is on Zayn’s heels most of the day, patiently waiting for instruction. There is not much Zayn needs him to do, but he is eager whenever Zayn comes up with something. He tries to send him off with Harry as Harry goes into town to buy the boy more clothes, but Olivier looks at him with these puppy eyes until Zayn tells him he can stay with him.

Nerves fill his belly as he sorts through his medicine bag, teaching Olivier the uses of his herbs. Liam said they were to meet with the Bonnie Prince tonight, but he had yet to explain the conversation he had had with him the night before. Or why Charlie insists on meeting at a brothel.

“What will you need me to do while you and mi’lord are gone?” Olivier asks. He plays with the wooden dog as Zayn works, trotting it along the table and jumping over the piles of herbs laid over the table.

Zayn tuts his teeth. “You may continue to play if you wish. But do not lose him. Liam gave him to me as a gift after our wedding.”

Like a habit, his eyes find Liam across the room, staring at himself as he fixes the ribbon around his throat. Warmth fills his chest just looking at him, and he looks away when he becomes overwhelmed with the feeling.

“May I also help Harry in the kitchens?”

Zayn snorts, reaching over the table to wiggle his fingers through the boy’s curls. “As long as you do not eat too quickly!”

Olivier beams. “Of course, mi’lord.”

His nerves build to the point that his hands shake by the time Liam is ready to travel to the brothel. Olivier follows after them as they leave, and waits by the front door as they slide on top of their horses.

“Dinna be nervous, Sassenach. The prince is nothing to be scared of.”

Changing history is, Zayn thinks, but he does not say so. Instead, he bites at his lip and waves to Olivier before they take off.

“I ken ye wanted a bairn though ye said ye dinna,” Liam say,s before smiling softly. “I love ye with every inch of me, but seeing ye with the wee one makes me love ye more.”

The heat on his cheeks makes Zayn want to hide his face but he looks to Liam, smiling at him as his heart grows fonder of the man he married. He had never wanted children of his own, but he did not realize until he was with Olivier how much he misses being around children.

“Thank you, Liam.”

The brothel is as busy as Zayn expected it to be when they step inside, vibrating with noise and music. Liam’s hand is firm on his back, his jaw tensed as he leads Zayn through the tangled bodies.

He is a bit surprised by the lack of privacy. He had thought brothels were a bit like hotels, where you would take your paying patron to somewhere private. The sight of miles of bare skin and the hum of pleasured noises makes his cheeks burn.

The room Liam leads him to is filled with tables of men sitting around, drinking. There is less nudity, but he can still hear the distant sounds. He flinches into Liam’s side when an older woman approaches them, her hands reaching out for Liam.

“Oh, Monsieur Payne. Victor has not stopped chatting my ear off about you since last night!”

Liam glances at Zayn before laughing awkwardly. “That is very kind. I did no mean offense.”

The woman waves her hands as she giggles. “No offense, mi’lord. Though if you change your mind and find him in your fancy, I am sure he will oblige.”

Another awkward laugh sounds from Liam before he bows his head. “Merci, Madame Jeanne. I am afraid I am in no need of his services tonight.”

Madame Jeanne’s eyes fall onto Zayn expectantly, making his cheeks grow hotter. How does one compliment a brothel? “Nor am I, Madame. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

She quirks a brow as she takes the hand Zayn offers to her. There is a sparkle of mischief in her eyes, and Zayn is grateful that she does not touch his face the way everyone else does when they compliment him.  “I see now why Monsieur Payne has no need for my men. Has a beau of his very own!”

Thankfully, Liam ducks forward to whisper something in Madame Jeanne’s ear so Zayn does not have to respond. She giggles as she swats Liam - whose face has reddened like a tomato - in the chest. “Oh you have my word, Monsieur Payne. I will assure my men will keep their hands away from _ce petit chat_.”

The flush on Liam’s cheeks deepens as he returns to Zayn’s side. “I dinna think I could get through a conversation with the prince with Madame Jeanne’s men’s courtin’ after ye.”

“I would not -” Zayn starts but Liam interrupts him with his lips against his temple.

“I am no worried about you, Sassenach. A bit possessive of ye, I am afraid.”

There is a foolish grin on Zayn’s face that he tucks against Liam’s neck as Liam guides them towards a table at the far end of the brothel, past the men playing the bagpipes. Being pressed into Liam’s side is comforting, keeping the nerves in his stomach from taking over.

Liam releases Zayn when they approach the table before bending into a bow with his hand outstretched. A scrawny man places his hand into Liam’s to allow Liam to press a kiss to his knuckles. There are other men seated at the table, but they stand to make room for them.

“And may I introduce ye to my husband, Zayn Payne of Broch Turach. Zayn, Charles Stuart.”

It is not what Zayn had been expecting the Bonnie Prince to look like. He is not bonnie by any means, with features more like the witch from Snow White and a dusty white wig placed on top of his head, which does little to hide how young he looks. He twitches a bit as if he is nervous and he holds onto Zayn’s hand when Zayn tries to pull away.

“Liam! When you mentioned your husband, I did not know!” Charlie exclaims with wide, delighted eyes. His accent is surprisingly not Scottish, but what sounds like Italian. “Oh, please be seated.”

Zayn sits in the seat Liam holds out for him before sitting himself between Zayn and Charlie. The tension in his body has not relaxed some, and he places a firm hand over Zayn’s knee. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, your majesty. I am -”

“Oh, I know who you are!” Charlie interrupts as he clasps his hands in front of them. “Have you any relation to the Royal Bard? I believe they refer to her as _La Dame Blanche_ here in France.”

“I - I apologize, but I do not know,” Zayn stutters out in confusion. Charlie reminds him a bit of Louis with his energy. While Louis’ appears confident, however, Charlie’s constant jittering makes him appear uncomfortable.

Charlie purses his lips for a moment. “Oh, I am quite sure you are. A woman of great talent, she is. I have lost her first name, but she too was a Malik before she married. Though King George has attempted to hide her identity by changing her name to Beauchamp. Beauchamp the Bard. Enchants people with her voice and her fortune telling.”

Liam’s hand squeezes his knee tighter as Charlie rambles on. Another Malik? Zayn feels as if everything is spinning around him. “My husband’s maiden name is Brannan, your majesty. He has no relation to the Maliks.”

Charlie guffaws. “Oh but you are identical! Tell me what it is that you do?”

Zayn does, telling him about his work with healing as Liam adds examples of his mastered skill. The prince’s eyes grow wide and excited, making Zayn wish he could sink into the air and disappear forever.

“It is quite lucky that we have stumbled paths. A Malik on the Scottish side, I never thought I would see the day.”

It is difficult not to press Charlie for more questions, or to assure him that he is not a Malik, because he _is_ , he just fails at understanding why that makes Charlie look as if he has already won the Uprising.

“Forgive me,” Zayn starts unsurely, glancing at Liam who frowns at him, “but I do not understand why being a Malik is of importance.”

The prince’s eyes practically bulge out of his head like a cartoon character. “You do not know? The Malik family is of great power. Healing, especially. They perform miracles. Many stories claim they are witches or fairies, but the men of England believe them to be of a different time. They are worshipped like they have been specially crafted by the Lord himself -”

Everything around him falls still as he processes the prince’s words. It is difficult to breathe as his chest tightens painfully. Liam does not tense, but warms a reassuring hand over his knee as if to wake him from his frozen state.

“A different time?” Liam asks, his voice calm and portraying none of the panic Zayn feels. “I dinna ken your meaning.”

Charlie twirls his fingers in the air dismissively. “As if from the future, or past. It is quite a difficult concept to understand, I say. Whether truth or not, King George has quite a bit of faith in it despite not being a man of faith. The Royal Bard is quite honored. More so than the Queen herself, I believe. Having you on our side would surely gain us a following.”

Blood fills Zayn’s mouth from the harsh way he digs his teeth into his cheek to keep himself from responding. Zayn has given up trying to understand how it is that he is here in the eighteenth century, and the flood of questions make him feel as if he is out of his body.

“That is why you have introduced me to your husband, is it not?” Charlie asks, looking at Liam. “Ruth said as much.”

Despite the hard set to Liam’s mouth, the corners flick upwards into a half smile. “Yes,” Liam lies. “Though it is truth that my husband does no ken himself as a Malik. We became acquainted when he was in search of his family in Scotland.”

There is an urge to hit Liam but he merely pinches the back of his hand. He does not want to be associated with the Maliks of this time at all, Liam should know that by now. But when the Prince looks at him for confirmation, Zayn has no choice but to nod in agreement.

“It is indeed luck that we have crossed paths then,” Zayn tries, attempting to make his voice light, “as this helps greatly in my attempts to find my family.”

Charlie grabs the goblet in front of him, tipping it towards Zayn before he downs it. When he wiggles his fingers to call over the waitress, Liam leans into him to press a kiss under his ear.

“Ye are alright, Sassenach?” Liam murmurs as his fingers snake out to curl into Zayn’s hand. Zayn squeezes it tightly.

“Mhm,” Zayn lies, turning until their noses presses together. “I am fine.”

He pulls himself away from the conversation when it turns to tactics and gaining Scottish support. Surely if there is a royal Malik he would have been able to trace his father’s lineage to England. He would consider it being a Malik line he is not related to in any way, if it were not for the fact that he resembles them so closely.

“Ye must ken that the clansmen will no just support a war they dinna ken if they will win. The Highlanders dinna ken a legend of magical Maliks, and if they did there is no much trust for fairies nor witches.”

Nor Sassenachs, Zayn thinks miserably. Liam does not think him a fairy nor a witch, but hearing the words from him still make him feel a bit ill. He has been told frequently to never speak a rumor like that out loud, and it seems Zayn cannot stop hearing it as of late.

“Well surely they must know of it!” Charlie exclaims with a hand held out to Zayn. “The stones of the legend are in Scotland! I must say, I find it a sin to believe in anything godly other than the Lord, but if it works in our favor -”

Zayn turns his eyes away from where he was watching a man attempt to win over a possible patron with a shake in his hips to look at his husband and the prince. It is minimal, the shock in Liam’s face. No one would notice unless they knew him well, or maybe Zayn only knows by the way Liam’s fingers dig into his thigh again.

“I believe you know more of this legend than we do, your majesty,” Zayn pipes in. “I do not mean this in offense, but I will not be a mascot for a war that will end in thousands of Highlanders dead. I suggest kindly that you listen to what my husband has to say. He is your best option at understanding how to gain support, and how to win.”

Charlie stares at Zayn for a long moment, making him antsy. He does not know if he overspoke and angered the prince, as Liam’s eyes seem to accuse him of. The smile on Charlie’s lips, though it does not match his eyes, is a surprising one.

“You are quite right, Zayn. I apologize if I come off too strongly. I hope you understand.”

From his peripheral view, he can see the corners of Liam’s lips quirk up into a surprised smirk. “No need to apologize, your majesty. I hope when we meet again you will be able to tell me more about this legend. And the name of the Royal Bard, if possible.”

Charlie grabs for Zayn’s hand as he pushes onto the table to stand up. “Oh, there is no need to leave! There is just a few things your husband and I must discuss, and then drinks!”

Zayn wraps his hands around Charlie’s bony one and squeezes gently. “Oh, please do forgive me. I am quite tired and I have a little one at home that needs me there to sleep.”

It is slightly the truth. Though it has only been a day, Zayn finds himself wanting to seek comfort in Olivier. Maybe because he reminds him of Safaa, or because he reminds him of a young Liam. Regardless, he finds himself wanting to be home and far from the Bonnie Prince.

“Well certainly. But please return with your husband,” Charlie requests. “I would like to get to know you better.”

There is a confused expression on Liam’s face as Zayn slides an arm over his shoulder to bend forward. He presses a soft kiss to Liam’s cheek. “Do return shortly.”

Liam’s hand flies up to circle his fingers around Zayn’s wrist. “I dinna want ye travelin’ by your lonesome, _mo duinne_.”

The grip he has on Zayn is not tight, and Zayn removes himself from it with ease. He places a soft kiss to Liam’s palm. “Ye dinna have a say,” he teases quietly.

When he return to Ruth’s, Zayn practically runs into his bedroom. Olivier is already asleep amongst the massive bed, his limbs sprawled out like a starfish as his snores filter through the room. Zayn paces as he removes the shirt he wears and scrambles to find another in the dark without making too much noise. A sudden feeling of panic washes over him, making his fingers practically useless from the way they shake.

His first meeting with Malik, the captain had referred to him as nobility. Is he related to the Royal Bard? Is the Captain or Bashar? Surely he must be related to their mother as well. The twins had told him how much he looks like her.

But _how_. He should be excited that Charlie might know something that could help him understand all of this, but it just makes him more panicked. It has been difficult enough seeing two men who look like his father, now a woman? He does not know if he can bare seeing his sister’s faces and have it not be them.

“Go away,” Zayn says, at the soft sound of footsteps. As much as he seeks Liam’s comfort, he also does not want to talk nor have those worried eyes on him. He wants the panic to wash through him and then sizzle out on it’s own accord.

“Ollie left this in the kitchens. I did no want him afraid that he lost it,” he hears Harry from behind him. Zayn turns to see him holding out the wooden dog. “The servants have been talkin’ about ye. Niall requested I seek information out of them, and I will no tell Niall if ye wish me not to.”

Zayn snatches the dog from Harry before grimacing apologetically. He holds the wooden dog to his chest, placing it over his heartbeat. “What have they been saying about me?”

Harry’s eyes fall to his hands when he speaks, and Zayn kind of hates it. “They think ye a Malik. A time traveler. I dinna believe ye have powers but I think ye ken more than we do now which makes it appear as if ye have magic in ye. And - and ye look like the Captain.”

“I do not know the truth,” Zayn interrupts before Harry can go on. “I do not know much.”

The hard clap Harry places onto his shoulder is comforting, and guilt fills him at not wanting to be around Liam - because it is the only thing he wants in the moment. “They say Tomlinson kens a lot of the legends. If ye wish, I will accompany ye.”

Zayn grabs for Harry before he can turn to leave. “Did they speak of the king of England’s Royal Bard? Her name?”

It is not until Harry says the name that Zayn realizes he had been hoping it to be something else. “I think they said Mary or Mariah. Why?”

He turns then to hide his face from Harry. “I was hoping it was Patricia.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM sorry that I am, once again, late posting. I don't have a reasonable excuse lol. As things come to an end and points are wrapped up over the last few chapters, if you find anything confusing please don't hesitate to ask!! The last couple chapters were a bit difficult for me to write because they were a bit confusing in my head.
> 
> As always, thank you SO much for your support and lovely comments. I'm here on [tumblr](http://zipplekink.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/zippiekink.tumblr.com) if you need me love you bunches xo

With the rumors circulating about Zayn, Liam has grown increasingly protective, making it difficult for Zayn to separate from him and Paddy long enough to visit the apothecary. He had sent Harry instead, but Louis had told him that he knew nothing of stones and legends.

“It is clear that he is no telling the truth,” Harry murmurs, as he pulls at Zayn’s shirt until the buttons pop open. A heat takes over his skin though he knows that Harry is only looking at him appreciatively because he is the one that dressed him. “I understand if he will only speak with ye, but ye ken that Liam made me swear I would no let ye travel there wi’out him.”

Zayn grits his teeth. It is fine that Liam does not want him traveling alone, but Liam will not accompany him either. He either shuts down Zayn’s requests without hesitation or he is out so often doing Charlie’s bidding that there is no time for him to go. His shadow has returned in the form of Paddy, who uses his bigger size against Zayn to physically keep  him from running out of the house.

It is starting to make him wonder if Liam gave Olivier a home with them just to keep Zayn occupied while being held captive. The little one is quite active and needy, taking up much of Zayn’s attention but not enough to keep Zayn from thinking of the stones.

“He is being an arse,” Zayn grumbles. “A huge arse.”

Harry snorts as he steps back to take in Zayn’s appearance. The flush on his skin grows - he feels naked under Harry’s gaze. His pants are quite tight around his bum and thighs, and Harry has unbuttoned nearly the whole top half of his shirt so the shape of his pecs are revealed between the parted material.

Despite his initial refusal, Harry has convinced Zayn to swap the emeralds in his ears for rubies. Clunky rings decorate his fingers and his eyes water with the makeshift eyeliner Harry had lined his eyes with.

“I feel like a pirate,” Zayn mutters, as he glances at his reflection. Not _really_ \- he finds he looks quite handsome, and it is modest compared to what he wore in his time, but it makes Harry laugh, which makes Zayn feel more at ease.

“Ye look fit to eat, Zayn. The King will be on his knees beggin’ ye to stay in the castle with him.”

The flush in his cheeks travels to his chest. He is thankful he had yet to get that tattoo under his collarbones that he had wanted after the war ended. Liam still looks at the one on his hip as if he is surprised that it has not rubbed off yet. He will not mention it, but there are times when they bathe together that Liam scrubs that spot with soap a bit more than anywhere else.

“It is proper to be wearin’ a wig but I think the curls and jewels will distract Guillaume enough that it will no matter.”

They had been invited to the Palace of Versailles, home of King Guillaume and Prince Philippe, by Lily. The price of the black hellebore was an appointment with the King and his financial advisor, not a party, but Zayn cannot find it in himself to complain.

“Will you be coming as well?”

Harry presses a finger under Zayn’s chin until Zayn follows along and straightens his shoulders. “Niall did ask if I would escort him. I said no.”

“And why would you go and do something like that?”

There is no response as the door to Zayn’s bedroom opens behind them. He hears Olivier’s tiny footsteps first before heavier ones follow.

“I would like it greatly if you would come,” Zayn tells Harry, before he turns.

Liam’s hands are wiggling into Olivier’s hair before he takes in Zayn. His body visibly stiffens as his eyes grow wide, a look taking over his face as if he is offended by the sight before him.

“Ye canna wear that!”

Harry snorts loudly behind him. “Of course he must, Liam. Ye want him to earn the affection of the _Guilliaume le bien aimé_ , no? His current bedmate has her nipples pierced. Ye are lucky I dinna do that!”

A dark shade of red trails up Liam’s throat as he whips his head to Harry, the look of offense turning into one of panic. He throws his hand accusingly at them. “He is no going to be bedmates with the king, Harry!”

“Is only going to benefit ye if he thinks he might be,” Harry snaps back lightly. There is a tremor in his lips as he fights off a smile as not to offend Liam more.

Zayn crosses his arms over his chest as he watches the two of them bicker, Liam’s face growing steadily more flustered, Harry’s more amused. “I do not think pierced nipples are a bad idea,” he interrupts. “I have considered it before on myself. I will admit, I am a bit too scared to go through with it, though. There are times Liam bites them much too hard and I think I might die of pain.”

The bickering stops abruptly as both Harry and Liam glance at him with wide eyes. Olivier, however, covers a hand over his mouth to muffle the wild giggle he lets out. It is difficult not to giggle in response, so Zayn doesn’t try to hold the sound back as he pads over to Liam. He slips his palms over Liam’s chest, tickling over the material before sliding over his neck in what he hopes is a comforting touch.

Harry whispers something to Olivier as Liam palms over Zayn’s sides, and in a moment they are gone, shutting the door behind them.

“I should bite ye now for nearly shocking me into death,” Liam grumbles. “Ye can practically see the hair traveling down from ye navel, Sassenach. I dinna like it.”

Zayn snorts. “No you cannot. Do not be dramatic.”

Liam’s lips quirk up some as his hands slide up Zayn’s spine. “I dinna like people lookin’ at ye like ye are something to be had. Ye honor is important, Sassenach. It is my duty as yer husband to protect it.”

There is a softness in his voice, something that almost sounds insecure as Zayn wraps his arms around his neck before placing a soft kiss to his lips. “I am nothing to be had. And you are the one who suggested my bonnie face be used to win us favor.”

Liam groans in complaint. “I did no want to _use_ ye, Sassenach. I dinna remember saying it like that,” he whispers. “I would verra much like to keep ye here with me.”

Gently, Zayn presses a bite under Liam’s jaw. “I am well aware. I feel quite like a prisoner here.”

Guilt crosses Liam’s face, but he does not deny nor admit to keeping him held captive in Ruth’s mansion. “Tomorrow we will travel the city. Wherever ye would like, Sassenach.”

Zayn grins as he presses his finger over Liam’s pulse, savoring the steady heartbeat he finds there. “Even the apothecary?”

Liam’s face hardens, but his eyes are bright with ausement. “As ye wish, _mo duinne_.”

To Zayn’s excitement, Harry ends up choosing to escort Niall to Versailles. He waits with Niall at the end of the staircase as Liam and Zayn approach. It had taken them longer to get ready than it should have with Liam’s wandering hands and wicked mouth, but he finally dressed himself when Zayn threatened to unbutton more of the buttons on his shirt with every minute they are late.

Niall gapes up at them, earning a hard slap on his chest from Harry. His face turns a violent shade of red before he folds forward in a bow, keeping his eyes trained on the floor.

“Ye might as well take the shirt off, Zayn. I can see yer bellybutton.”

Niall’s lips press tightly together to keep his laugh in as his cousin glares at him. It is not until Liam escorts Zayn towards the carriage that waits for them that Niall lets the sound bellow out.

“Do stay close to me, tonight,” Liam whispers before holding the door open for Zayn. “I dinna feel the same without ye by my side.”

Zayn giggles. “You want to make sure everyone knows I am already spoken for.”

Liam grins in response. “Aye, ye ken me well, Sassenach.”

Soft piano music plays when they enter the Moreau dining hall. There are crowds of people, most with wigs upon their heads or giant flowing gowns on. He feels exposed, as if too many eyes are upon him as they make their way through the crowd in search of a familiar face. Liam, however, seems relaxed and unaware of the growing anxiety inside of him.

He does not know if it is the reveal of skin or the giant _MALIK_ sign that is apparently on his forehead that makes him feel this way, but he suddenly understands why Liam thinks it best to keep him at home other than wandering about. Diverting his eyes from the crowd, he keeps them on Liam - the only person who makes him feel as if he stands out in a good way.

“Oh Liam, is that you? _Mais je rêve_!”

Zayn darts out of the way as a tall woman suddenly grabs for Liam’s shoulders before peppering a kiss to both of his cheeks. Her dark blond hair is braided and wrapped into a fancy design pinned to the back of her head, her dress a dark shade of red.

He knows his face turns the same color as he accidentally glances down at the mounds of cleavage that push from her tight corset. It is so tight that her cleavage nearly touches her chin, and Zayn can see the start of the dark round of her nipples.

“Claudine!”

The woman - Claudine - squeezes Liam’s cheeks with her fingers. “Oh, it has not been that long, but my how you have grown. A _man,_ you are. And as handsome as always!”

Liam’s cheeks flush as he slides from Claudine’s touch, grabbing for Zayn again. “Yes, well, um - this here is my husband, Zayn. Zayn, Claudine. We, um, were acquainted when I was in France before.”

“Acquainted?” Zayn asks as he takes Claudine’s hand into his own. He presses a soft kiss to her knuckles that makes her giggle. “Intimately?”

A hyena like laugh leaves Claudine’s lips as she squeezes Liam’s bicep appreciatively. A mortified look flashes in Liam’s eyes as he glares at him. “Oh I will admit it was my intention, but Liam here is quite bashful.”

“Yes, um, will you excuse us, Claudine?” Liam asks quickly, the attempt at being polite clear, though he fails miserably. “We are in search of Princess Lily, have you seen her, by chance?”

Seemingly unoffended, Claudine waves behind her dismissively before placing a kiss on both of their cheeks. “Oh you must visit Phillipe! He will be as delighted to see you as I am! Though I do not think he will be too happy that you are married.”

Embarrassment floods Liam’s face as he quickly pulls them away from his old friend. He avoids Zayn’s amused eyes. He is not offended by the way Claudine had said married as if it were a despicable thing, but he plans on using this against Liam whenever Liam talks of worrying about Zayn’s honor.

“I was no intimate with her, Sassenach. Ye ken it,” Liam grits out in embarrassment. “She did no take it verra well, and told Guillaume I had no interest in her because it was his brother that I sought for affection. It was no true, but a scandal nonetheless.”

Zayn squeezes Liam’s bicep appreciatively. “You _are_ a man,” Zayn jokes, which only makes Liam’s face burn hotter. “If my pretty face is to be in favor of Guillaume, we could use you for Phillipe’s favor.”

A half laugh, half wounded noise leaves Liam’s lips. “I was found at Madame Jeanne’s with Phillipe because Guillaume did no want the prince spotted at a ‘whore’ house. Rumors sparked when the King’s guardsmen saw me with the prince, whose pants were circled around his ankles. Was no because o’ me, ye ken, but one of Madame Jeanne’s men.”

“How scandalous,” Zayn murmurs. The men that had been at the brothel looked as if they had money and they must have. But it is not surprising that the wealthy would shame something in public while doing it in private.

“Aye,” Liam murmurs, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. “When we find the princess, I would verra much like to ask her for a fan.”

“Whatever for?”

Liam’s adam’s apple bobs heavily in his throat as he swallows. The pink returns to his cheek as he avoids looking directly at Zayn. “I can see the dark of yer nipples through yer shirt, Sassenach.”

They find Lily amongst a crowd of women sipping tall glasses of champagne before the biggest fireplace he has ever seen. Zayn can hear her giggles before he spots her.

The wig upon her head is massive, at least six inches tall, resembling whip cream. Her eggshell blue dress is adorned with white lace and there is so much blush on her face that Zayn wonders if it rubs off on his own cheek as Lily kisses each one.

“Did that husband of yours love it?” she asks with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

Liam’s eyebrows lift high towards his hairline as he looks to Zayn for explanation.

“Quite a bit, I reckon,” Zayn giggles. “This is him here. Liam Payne, my husband. We are both very grateful for your invitation.”

“Thank _you_ for your help,” Lily exclaims to Zayn as Liam bows deeply before her. “It is a small price to pay. Cowell is around here somewhere. Hiding from Guillaume, surely.”

“Thank you kindly,” Liam murmurs, as he straightens. With Olivier’s help, Liam had found correspondence between the King and Charlie. It had not been good for the mission at hand. In gratitude for the French’s help, Charlie is promising an alliance once the throne is his. “I must find him. Sassenach?”

Zayn nods before Liam takes off to find Cowell, the Master of Finance. He knows he is not alone when he parts from Lily, surely Paddy and Niall are both somewhere near, but he does not search for them. Instead, he makes his way through the crowd, careful not to make eye contact with anyone.

The champagne offered by the servants standing amongst the crowd is sweet on his tongue. Too sweet, in fact, and with the bubbles, Zayn’s nose wrinkles as he takes sips.

“It is delicious, no?”

Turning, Zayn spots a chubby man with quite a large, curled wig on top of his head. An older man, maybe in his forties, and clearly rich, if the gold decorating his suit is any indication. “Yes, quite. Zayn Payne, of Broch Turach.”

The man’s caterpillar-like eyebrows lift high. “No relation to Liam Payne of Broch Turach, is there?”

“Yes, my husband.”

The man chortles as he holds out a chubby hand for Zayn to shake. “The Duke of Sandringham. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. The young lord’s cousin has spoken greatly of him. I did not know he was married to you!”

The hair at the back of Zayn’s neck stands up as his heart races. He has never met the Duke of Sandringham, a British nobleman, who must know Captain Malik. “Um, yes. Niall mentioned seeking your help in clearing his name?”

The Duke laughs, or chortles again. Zayn has never met anyone who actually chortles, but he makes this throaty sound that reminds him of the word. “Yes, yes indeed! I am working diligently, though your husband did not help his case by escaping that prison a second time!”

“It is difficult to blame him when he was only minutes from death,” Zayn says coldly. He looks around in hopes that Paddy, Niall, or even Harry will come to his rescue, but he does not seem to see them. “Liam has taken quite the abuse with his head held high, but everyone has their limits.”

“Yes, yes, I did not mean offense. Mahaad, this way, young boy. You did not tell me you were related to the lord of Broch Turach!”

It is sudden, the way Niall appears from the crowd. His face is twisted in anger, his hand tight on the hilt of the sword at his belt. Zayn startles at the sight before pressing a hard hand to Niall’s chest to prevent him from pushing past him.

“It is a crime to draw a sword in the presence of the King,” Zayn reminds him, under his breath. Niall only glares at Zayn, but he does not remove his sword from his belt.

“Malik,” Niall growls.

Zayn’s hand falls numbly to his side at the acid way Niall spits his last name. But the war chief’s eyes are not on him - they are looking past him.

Twirling around, he sees the Duke looking at them with alarm. Beside him is a younger boy, barely an adult. The shape of his facial features are strikingly similar to those of Javadd and Bashar, but round with youth, though his hair is far too light of a brown and his skin too pale.

“Beauchamp,” the boy blurts, with a nervous shake to his voice. He bows before Niall. “Mahaad Beauchamp, sir.”

It is pronounced bee-cham, the same way Prince Charlie had pronounced Beauchamp the Bard. Niall does not relax any, his grip still tight on his sword. Alarmed eyes find Zayn as he lets out a nervous laugh, one that comes out louder than he intended.

He cannot control it as it bubbles from his lips. There is a protective hand on his back, one he presumes is Niall’s, but he does not care. He continues to laugh, until his chest starts to ache.

Another _fucking_ Malik. Soon, he is going to start losing count.

“Excuse me, mi’lord, I am afraid I do not see what it is that you find so amusing?” The Duke says, though there is confused laughter in his own voice.

“Have you any relation to the Captain Malik? Javadd Malik?”

The boy’s eyes grow wide as he nods hesitantly. “Half brother, mi’lord. On my mother’s side.”

Zayn lets out another laugh, that results in Niall taking his glass of champagne away. The poor boy looks terrified as his shoulders hunch forward with an effort to make himself smaller. Zayn claps a hand onto one. “Would you excuse us for just one moment?”

When the Duke opens his mouth, it looks as if he is going to say no, but Niall captures the Duke’s shoulder to drag him into a private conversation of his own.

The fearful look in Mahaad’s eyes does not leave as Zayn guides him a few feet away. With the laughter subsided, he feels as if he needs to drink every drop of wine in the palace.

“Would you be able to help me get a word to your brother, Bashar?”

“I - I - I do not know who you mean.”

Zayn wrinkles his nose at this. “Bashar. The captain’s twin?”

Great, it would be his luck that he imagined a Malik. Maybe he is going delusional here. Maybe time travel affects the strength of the mind. Maybe Bashar lied about his name.

“How do you know of him?” Mahaad whispers urgently. “My mother has worked hard at keeping him a secret. They are very close, you see.”

“Why?”

The boy glances around him nervously. “It is not good being a Malik, you must know that. My mother does not care for Javaad much. I am sure you can understand. But Bashar is different. I can deliver word, but I cannot give tell you how to reach him.”

“I have heard people respect Malik’s as if they were created by God himself,” Zayn explains as he remembers what Charlie had said.

Mahaad grimaces. “Surely some do. Not everyone. They hang people for being witches. The only reason they have not hung my mother is because she is protected by King George. You - you must be a Malik as well?”

“Who is your mother?” Zayn interrupts, ignoring Mahaad’s question. “What is her name?”

His lips part to respond, but a heavy body is shoving against Zayn before he can hear what the boy has to say. Harry looks at him with glazed over eyes, his arm squeezing around Zayn’s shoulders tightly.

“Niall gave me the signal to save ye,” Harry mumbles against his ear, his mouth so close that Zayn can feel his hot breath. “Ye must come with me.”

“I will send him word,” Mahaad promises, as Harry drags Zayn away. He wants to pull from his grip and return to Mahaad, but the boy disappears back towards the Duke.

 _Protected by King George_. Beauchamp the Bard has to be Mahaad’s mother. Bashar’s mother. The woman that looks exactly like him.

“That was a really important conversation I was having, Harry,” Zayn grumbles as he shoves Harry off of him.

“I am sure,” Harry responds as his eyes narrow. “With Liam away from ye, I thought ye would care to know that Tomlinson is here.”

*

“Both the king and I have already funded the prince, Lord Payne. As a Christian man, I am surprised the Prince is not in your favor.”

 Disappointment makes Liam’s chest feel heavy. He dreads having to tell Zayn this. Since meeting Charlie, Zayn has had a ghost of sadness clinging to him, he is afraid of making it worse.

“Scotland is in my favor.”

The Master of Finance presses his lips tightly together, his jaw tensing. He fidgets with the wig upon his head. “The Prince’s as well. I am afraid this conversation is over, Lord Payne. I must find the Duke before he retires for the night. Until we meet again.”

Liam glares at him as he turns and walks inside. The air is cool, breezing through the thin clothes he wears, but he does not follow Cowell inside. Instead, he rests against the railing lining the pathway, peering out to the river that shines with the light of the moon.

Changing the future. It seems like an impossible task. As is traveling through time, though he does not claim that he has made sense of it. Rather, he has tried not to think about it at all as it confuses him greatly. The how or why does not matter. All that matters is that Zayn was brought to him.

“Payno!”

He does not turn to the sound of Niall’s voice, and he receives a hard shove in the shoulder because of it. There is not a happy look on Niall’s face, but an agitated one.

“I have good news, bad news, and verra bad news. Which of it would ye like to hear first?”

Liam sinks low until his forearms are resting on the railing. He has not drank, but an exhaustion that mimics the results of too much port lays on him. “I wish to hear neither one,” Liam sighs. “I would verra much like to fetch my husband and return home.”

This goes ignored. “The Duke is making progress with clearing your name,” Niall says, though he does not look overjoyed by it. “Good news. Bad news, he is meeting with the Captain in a fortnight. I dinna trust it.”

The water ripples over the stream of light cast across it, making Liam wonder if at least Zayn’s moon back home is the same. Surely it must be, as the stars and the sun must be as well.

“They are meeting here in France.”

Liam turns, resting against the railing. Anger flickers through him at the mention of the Captain. It is his desire, to take his revenge with the captain’s life, but there is a whispered though in the back of his mind as to what will happen to Zayn if he does. “That is no bad news for a man yearning to seek his revenge.”

Finally, a flicker of light touches Niall’s eyes as he claps Liam on the shoulder. “Aye. I will kill him if ye canna.”

“I will. I give ye my word.”

The look on Niall’s face is doubtful as he crosses his arms over his chest. It is not possible for Niall to know Liam’s doubts. “I dinna ken it, Leemo. Ye needn’t swear it to me. I need ye to swear me the truth.”

Liam pushes from the railing to cross his arms over his own chest. “I have always given ye the truth, Nialler. What is it that ye are wanting to ask me?”

Silence floats between them for a few moments as Niall’s jaw tenses over and over. He glares at Liam, and Liam glares back, unwilling to back down until Niall speaks.

“Zayn has a secret and I want to ken it,” Niall grunts. “I dinna believe he was searching for his family. I believe he kens who his kin is. And I believe there is truth within the rumors. I canna promise him my protection if ye dinna tell me the truth of who he is. I dinna ask questions when he brought that man - Bashar - to Griffin’s home. But if ye’d have seen him, Liam, ye would have killed him on sight.”

Ice trails down Liam’s spine, but he keeps his face closed. He trusts Niall to never lay a finger on Zayn - Zayn Brannan that is. He cannot say the same for Zayn Malik. Niall hates the captain as much as Liam does.

“Ye can have yer suspicions if ye please,” Liam says. “The truth is Zayn dinna ken his family when we stumbled upon him, that I give ye my word. Anything else is no my truth to be tellin’. Ye shall ask Zayn.”

Niall rubs at the smatter of hair on his jaw. Tension remains there, but the coldness slips from his eyes. “I would, but I canna seem to find that husband of yers.”

*

Louis Tomlinson sits upon the balcony, legs dangling over the edge as he sips at a tall glass of sparkling wine. He does not turn when Zayn approaches, but Zayn knows he is aware of his presence.

“Did you know that your curly headed friend has traveled to my shop asking questions about you? I presumed you already knew, that you sent him even. But if you did not, then it is necessary you know of your friend’s suspicions.”

Without responding, Zayn rests his forearms along the balcony beside Louis. They are surrounded by darkness, minus the few shadows the candles on the castle create on the ground below. At a far distance, the moon reflects on what appears to be a lake of some sort.

“I did send him. It has been rather, erm, difficult traveling on my own.”

Louis snorts. “Liam?”

Zayn finds himself grinning. Despite his irritation with Liam, he is fond. Liam is not the way he is to be controlling, but to be protective. He relents usually, but he has been more protective  since the mingled talk of Zayn and his possible relation to the Malik’s.

It is difficult to blame him. He was tortured at the hands of Malik. He has watched his people hang after being accused of witchcraft. He has vowed to protect Zayn and Liam takes his vows like he may die if he does not keep them.

“The Bonnie Prince believes me to be some sort of god sent creature with healing powers,” Zayn goes on quietly, though they are alone on the balcony. “From the future. It has made Liam nervous about leaving me alone.”

“And you do not believe him?”

There is a quirk in Louis’ eyebrow and amusement in his eyes that tells Zayn he knows. He does not know how it is possible that Louis could know, unless he too has traveled through time. Before speaking he hesitates, though he is confident he can trust Louis.

“I do not believe to be _god sent_ ,” Zayn admits. “Not in that way that is different from anyone else, at least. And I do not think I have magical powers. I just am, I do not know, good at what I do?”

Louis hiccups out a giggle as he kicks his legs out in front of him. “It is not just talent, Zayn. It is in your aura. As it is in mine. It is magic, indeed. Though, I do not believe in a god, but if you do, being god sent would be a good explanation for its existence, if you sought one.”

Zayn drags his teeth over his bottom lip. It is at the tip of his tongue, the most important question. Well, they are all important questions, but it is the one that has been in the front of his mind. “Are you from the future?”

Louis’ laughter grows. “Oh, no, no. But no one knows the legend of the Maliks and Brannans more than I.”

At the mention of his mother’s last name, Zayn stiffens. “Brannan _and_ Malik?”

“ _Oui_ ,” Louis sighs, as he rocks on the balcony. They are quite a distance from the ground below, but Louis does not seem to be bothered by the height. He rocks on the thin edge as if it is exciting to be a moment away from falling. “The legend has changed much over time; it has transformed into other stories or has had major details left out. Do you care to hear it? The truth as I know it?”

There is no hesitation in the way he nods his head, but it is there when he speaks. “How is it that you know the truth of it?”

Louis’ gaze is distant when he responds. He looks away from Zayn and into the darkness surrounding them. “Because I was there when it started.”

The sound of the party fades away, as if it is in another part of the world, when Louis starts to speak. Zayn listens without interruption, thankful that Louis’ usual energy is gone and that he speaks slowly enough that Zayn can follow along.

“The lady of Malik, Zuzana was her name. She was delicate - or, she appeared to be so. Much like you. You appear soft and fragile, but the strength inside is great. She had a wicked tongue, one that gave her trouble a great deal. Her father searched far and wide for the strongest warrior to protect her from the danger she created for herself, unaware that _she_ was the strongest warrior.

“She did not need protecting, and every warrior that was given to her she sent away. She was quite beautiful, you see, and many of these warriors sought more than just protecting her - they wanted her hand in marriage. She did not wish to marry, though, at least not to a man, and these men did not take the denial very well.

“It spread quickly, the stories of the fate of these men that tried to harm her. Some quite hilarious - but that is not of importance. It did not deter the men, though. They simply thought that earning her hand was another ritual to prove their masculinity or something as ridiculous as that. They believed her powers to be god sent, you see. The goal was to defeat her or win her favor - the favor of a god.”

Louis shifts from the railing until his feet hit the ground. He paces along the balcony, leaving Zayn in suspense until he finally speaks again.

“She married in hopes the warriors would give up their attempts. Her husband had been a kind man, one who would cause her no harm. She did not love him but I do not think he minded. He had not pursued her, nor anyone. I think, but I do not know, that he only agreed to the marriage to help her.

“It did not keep the warriors at bay. Not even when she was with child. Her husband was killed before the child was born, and Zuzana left the village to take the child somewhere safe.”

Louis smiles warmly as he clings onto the railing, finally still. “She loved a woman. Willahelma, of Brannan. She helped Zuzana escape the village, but it was not long after the child was born that her father found her. I am sure you can guess where they were found?”

Zayn shakes his head. He does not understand much of what Louis is saying, how he knows it, or what this has to do with him.

“The stones of Craigh na Dun, though they did not have that name at the time. Her father had created them when he was a boy. The Maliks _are_ powerful, you see. I too would claim them to be god sent if I believed in the gods. Zuzana taught me how to heal using auras, but as she could heal, she could injure as well. I could not heal damage done by her hand.”

“What does this have to do with me?”

Louis eyes glint as he looks at Zayn as if he had forgotten he was there. “Zuzana’s father sent her away, claiming it was to protect those she had harmed. He failed to see that Zuzana never harmed anyone without reason - they had all tried to harm her first. He sent her through the stones, separating her from her son and Willahelma. Willahelma mourned the loss of Zuzana to the point it made her sick and close to death. I healed her and the next day she was gone, through the stones in search of Zuzana. She left the child with me.”

“Wait,” Zayn interrupts. “I apologize, but when was this?”

“Centuries ago, when the lands were one.” Louis gives him an amused smile, but there is a sadness clouding his eyes. “I have spent that time searching for Zuzanna after her son disappeared through the years later. Instead of finding her, I have found those descended from her, traveling through the stones. Only twice has a descendent of Zuzana found a descendant of Willahelma.”

Zayn knows he is gaping, but he cannot help it. It is difficult to process the information Louis has laid before him. There has to be pieces missing and Louis looks barely thirty, let alone centuries old.

“You asked if I was from the future,” Louis laughs. “I am not, but I have traveled to it. I have traveled all over time, hoping to help them find each other so the stones will close for good.”

“Why?” Zayn asks. How? “You cannot return home if they close them. I cannot return.”

This makes Louis look away again, his body falling completely still for once. “If the stones close, maybe that means Willahelma has found peace. They closed once and I could not return home from this time. I have spent years here, longer than I have spent anywhere. And then one day, I felt the stones open again. I believe you reopened them.”

When Louis looks at him again, the sadness has taken over more of his face. “And to my surprise, the man that has came through them is not only of Malik, but of Brannan as well.”

There is a commotion from the doors between the balcony and inside. Zayn can see Liam there, saying something angrily to Harry who stands before them. “Does that mean, my parents -”

“Yes,” Louis interrupts. “They were the first of Zuzana and Willahelma to find each other.”

“And the second?” Zayn asks, ignoring the sound of his name as Liam finally manages to push past Harry.

“You,” Louis grins, as his eyes find Liam. “Liam descends from Willahelma. From myself. She was my sister. We were the start of the people, there are thousands of generations that can be traced to us. But none have found each other.”

Before Zayn can respond, Liam’s fingers are circling his wrist. He does not pull Zayn away from Louis, but his brows are furrowed in concern as he glances at the short man. “Sassenach. I find it is time to leave.”

Zayn does not pull from Liam, but he does not move either. “Why my parents? Why me?”

“That is one question that I do not know the answer to,” Louis says regretfully. “Hello, Liam.”

Liam’s teeth grind together but he nods politely at Louis. His fingers are warm against Zayn’s skin, gently tracing over the vein on the inner side as if he is aware of the comfort Zayn needs. “Tomlinson.”

“The Captain,” Zayn goes on, panicked as he sees Louis step forward as if he is going to leave. “Is he from the future as well?”

“No,” Louis tells him. “He was born here, in this time. Seventeen hundred and twenty.”

Zayn sinks against Liam’s side as his husband slides an arm around his lower back. Thinking of the Captain with any type of magical ability makes him feel queasy. “And when you visited the future?”

Louis pats a gentle hand against Zayn’s cheek. “I met you there, Zayn. Your husband is eager to leave, but please visit me at the apothecary and I will tell you more.” He gives Liam a polite smile, but it seems sarcastic. “That is, if your warrior prince allows you.”

Liam tenses against him as Louis walks off. They remain quiet, though Liam hums when he presses a kiss to Zayn’s temple. “Do you wish to talk about it?”

“No,” Zayn breathes before tucking his face against Liam’s chest. He holds onto the fabric of his shirt tightly, a silent plea to remain close. There is too much going through his mind for him to process it all. Liam interrupted at the wrong time, he still has so many questions. “How did it go with the Master of Finance?”

There is a grim tone to Liam’s voice as he speaks into the hair at the top of Zayn’s head. “He supports Charlie, as does King Guillaume.”

Zayn lets out a soft, wounded laugh as he looks up to Liam. There is a warmth in his eyes that slides through him. “Well, in good news, we are soul mates.”

There is a grin on Liam’s lips before he presses them to Zayn’s forehead. “Aye, Sassenach. I could have told ye that.”

*

With their attempts at dissuading the King and Cowell from supporting Charlie failing, Liam is gone most days in attempt of corrupting any further support - big or small. With him gone, Louis visits often, telling Zayn more about Zuzana and Willahelma, the descendants of theirs that he has met.

There are times when he will not answer questions, and times when he will. Often, he drifts away in thought and Zayn changes the subject.

“She was a warrior queen?” Olivier pipes in, his voice straining with pain as Zayn attempts to drag a comb through his matted hair. He considers cutting the curls off, as it is still a struggle for him to use soap and he feels as if his arms could break with the force it takes to untangle them.

“In a sense,” Louis laughs. “She could defeat the strongest men with just a snap of her fingers.”

“Oh,” Olivier sings in wonder. “And now she is stuck in time?”

Louis’ grin falters some. Luckily the boy still thinks Louis’ stories are just that - stories that Louis has made up for entertainment. “I do not know. I have yet to find her.”

“Enough with the questions,” Zayn sighs as he gives up his attempts at Olivier’s hair, his arm aching. He wants to ask about Louis’ visit to the future, but it is difficult to do so with Olivier’s need to eavesdrop. “Fetch Mister Tomlinson more port, would you?”

“Oh no, I must be leaving,” Louis says as he stands suddenly. “I have an appointment at the apothecary. I merely stopped by to inform you of who it is.”

Olivier shifts on Zayn’s lap until he is settling against his chest. He tugs aimlessly at the thread of Zayn’s pants.

“And who may that be?”

A grimace takes over Louis’ lips. “A one Javadd Malik. He visited me yesterday, looking for an herb I did not carry. His younger brother is terribly sick, I am afraid. It seemed to me that it is asthma, but now I am not sure.”

If it were not for Olivier on his lap, Zayn surely would have leapt from his seat. His heart races in his chest, and a tremble takes over his fingers. “The Captain? Here?”

Louis shrugs, but his expression is apologetic. “I do not know the reason.”

“He has a meeting with the Duke,” Olivier responds simply as he takes Zayn’s hand into his own and tickles his fingers over the palm like he has seen Liam do so many times. It works at calming the wave of nausea ripping through him. “He looks like you, no? I gave mi’lord the letter I took from his pockets.”

“Liam knows?” Zayn blurts, causing a sheepish look to take over Olivier’s face. He calms, squeezing his hand reassuringly around Olivier’s smaller one.

“That is my cue to leave,” Louis giggles, pointing towards the door. “You may have your answers shortly, I feel your husband is quite close.”

Louis has not gone in detail about the magic he can do, but he makes comments like these at times that make Zayn wonder. He is still unconvinced that he holds any magic, but he has learned to stop arguing with Louis about it.

It turns out he is correct when shortly after Louis departs, the sound of Liam’s voice filters through the house. He appears only moments later, a tight set to his lips.

“Bonjour mi’lord,” Olivier greets, as he jumps from Zayn’s lap eagerly. “How was your day?”

“Quite tiring,” Liam says, though he smiles as he rubs a fond hand in Olivier’s curls, mussing them up more. “Between port sales and work for Charlie, I feel as if I may fall asleep standing up.”

Liam reaches for Zayn, curling a hand around the back of his neck to pull him close and trapping Olivier between the two of them. Olivier does not seem to mind as he curls an arm around the both of them.

“You should sleep, then, my love.”

“Aye,” Liam sighs, his features heavy with exhaustion. He presses his lips to Zayn’s forehead. “But I have one more appointment before I can rest. With the Duke. Niall does not trust that he supports the Prince as he claims. He has made a healthy donation to the cause, but Niall believes his intentions are not as we expect.”

There are times when Zayn cannot tell if Liam is happy or disappointed by their failure to prevent the Prince from receiving donations to fund his cause. Working with Charlie may have swayed him into wanting to support, but Zayn hopes that what will happen when they lose will be enough to keep Liam focused. “You cannot. You know he is meeting with the Captain.”

Liam looks guilty as he glances down at Zayn. He strokes his fingers over the back of his neck, making gooseflesh erupt over his skin. “I dream about meeting the Captain again. With him dead, I may finally be at ease.”

With this, Zayn pulls away from Liam. He cups a protective hand around Olivier’s head before asking him off until their conversation is over. There is an unsure look on Liam’s face as he watches Zayn.

“You will be arrested,” Zayn tells him, trying to keep his voice remaining calm. “If you murder one of the King’s men _or_ if you merely duel. You may be at ease with your thoughts, but you will rot in a prison with an empty belly and dirty skin. Plus - plus -”

Liam slides his palms under Zayn’s jaw to tilt his head to help him calm the sudden hiccup in his voice. It had not occurred to him, as he has tried to push away every thought of the Captain that tries to enter his mind.

“Louis said the Captain was born here in this time. If he is my ancestor and he dies -”

He stops when Liam’s eyes fall closed and his face crumples. “Ye could be descended from Bashar, Sassenach. It makes more sense than ye being kin of a man created by Satan himself.”

“You are related to Gregory,” Zayn responds quietly, revelling in the soft smile that takes over Liam’s words because of it. “I need your word, Liam, that you will not kill him nor challenge him to a duel or do anything that may place you in a prison. I cannot promise that I can break you out a second time.”

Liam grins softly but it does not match his eyes. “I canna promise to never commit a crime, Sassenach. And I canna promise never to be in prison as I have been imprisoned before for things I have no done.”

His fingers trail down Zayn’s neck and arms until they grab onto his hands. He squeezes them before bending to a knee before him. Liam presses his lips to his knuckles.

“I vow to ye I will no end Javaad’s life and I will no challenge him to a duel while in France.”

Zayn snorts as he bows forward to press a kiss to the top of Liam’s head. “That is all I ask, babe.”

Liam’s hands slip around to the back of his thighs as he rests his head against Zayn’s lap. Liam practically clings to him for a moment, making Zayn fill with worry.

When he stands, there is no sign of distress on his expression - only a softness that makes the pink on his cheeks glow. Zayn tries, something he does at times, to see any of the red aura around Liam like Louis does, but he sees nothing.

“I would verra much like to distract myself with ye, Sassenach. I have been thinking about the pretty way ye look with those thighs spread around my waist,” Liam murmurs, lips quirking up, “Yer skin -”

Liam takes Zayn’s wrist into his hand and presses a kiss over the vein on the inside of it. A simple touch, but Zayn’s heart flutters inside his chest. “But I canna. I must go.”

“I am coming,” Zayn says as he pulls away. “And do not try to argue with me, Liam Payne, because I have made up my mind.”

*

The Duke, thankfully, is not holding his meetings in a brothel, but in his rented home. Zayn had expected it to be solely Liam between the Duke and him, but there is a small crowd of people. There are tables set up in the hall, where people sit playing chess.

“Tis a verra serious game,” Liam murmurs against Zayn’s ear. Across the room, Niall stands with his arms crossed over his chest and an unfriendly look upon his face. Someone beside him speaks to him, but Niall is either pointedly not looking at them or unaware that they are even there. “Niall is putting it in the ears of the men that I am unbeatable. It raises the bid.”

“Well, then I hope you are unbeatable,” Zayn murmurs, squeezing his arm around Liam’s. The grin on Liam’s lips and the way his eyes sparkle still makes a fuzzy warmth rush through Zayn. He wonders if it will always feel this way with him. He hopes so.

“Ah, there is the Duke. And -,” Liam pauses for a moment, his face crumpling in confusion before he speaks again. “Oh, must be the lad ye mentioned?”

Mahaad seems small where he stands behind the Duke. His shoulders are hunched and the bags beneath his eyes are prominent against his pale skin.

“Doesna look as much like ye,” Liam murmurs thoughtfully. “Will ye excuse me, Sassenach?”

Reluctantly, Zayn pulls away from Liam. He wants to speak to Mahaad again, but he stands too close to Liam and the Duke that he does not want to disrupt the conversation. He wanders, aware that Niall’s eyes are on him with every movement.

“Would you fancy a drink, monsieur?”

A waiter appears before him, a tray of glasses held in his hand.

“No, I am okay.”

“I insist,” the waiter goes on, pushing the tray closer to Zayn. “The Duke insisted.”

With a heavy sigh, Zayn takes one of the glasses in hopes that the waiter will leave him be. It works, but not a moment passes before another person is pushing into his space.

Panic rips through him so quickly it feels as if his heart stops in his chest. Part of him wants to sink into the crowd and disappear, but the anger inside of him makes him want to strike the man down in front of him without care about the dueling rule.

Captain Javaad Malik wears a cruel smile on his lips as he takes the glass of wine from Zayn. “I suggest you do not drink this. Someone put something into it.”

Looking at the wine, Zayn sees no difference but when the Captain tilts it under his nose, he can smell something that is not alcohol - but he cannot be sure what it is.

“Why do you care?” Zayn snaps. He has wandered far enough that Liam is not in view. Niall is turned to the man speaking to him. Zayn does not trust that the two of them would not make a scene if they saw Zayn with the Captain.

“I care quite a great deal,” the Captain says with an offended tone. “We are kin, if you remember. Caring about each other is what Maliks do.”

“How?” Zayn whispers urgently. Disgust rolls in his belly and he tries to keep it down, but it is difficult to do as memories of the way he had hurt Liam flash to the front of his mind. Images of Liam’s back and the imprint of Malik’s initials on his skin make his hands shake.

“I do not know,” the Captain admits. “Bashar believes you are from the future. It is quite a theory he has. But he believes in the tales of magic my mother has always spewed more than I.”

“Your mother? Beauchamp the Bard.”

The muscle over Captain’s jaw tenses, and the look that seeps into his eyes is so cold that Zayn shivers because of it. “Yes. Her magic, whether truth or not, has made us royalty in the eyes of the King. I do not complain.”

“I do not forgive you,” Zayn starts, hoping his voice does not waver. “But tell me what you know about Bashar’s theory.”

The Captain grins but his eyes turn from Zayn as he indicates his chin past him. “Let Bashar tell you his tales. Ah, the man I have been hoping to see. I like the way his beard has grown, do you?”

Zayn does not need to look to know it is Liam that is approaching. He parts his lips to tell the Captain off, but a strong arm is circling around his chest and pulling him back.

“Aye, he will no cause a scene on his own. But ye dinna wanna be near or the young lord will no keep his hands to himself,” Niall whispers into his ear.

Niall does not let him go until Zayn stops pressing against his grip. Liam’s eyes are narrowed like dangers, his face redder than a tomato as he pushes into the Captain’s space. The Captain remains cool with his grin, but his fingers flex over the hilt of the sword attached to his hip.

“Drink. Ye are shakin’ like a lass givin’ birth,” Niall grumbles before pushing a glass into his hands.

There are a few curious glances from the people closest to them, but other than that no one seems to notice the anger vibrating off Liam or the way Niall stands protectively over them. Zayn sips at the wine, downing it as to calm the erratic beating of his heart. He grimaces at the sour taste.

“It is wonderful to see you, Lord Payne. You look in good health,” the Captain said. “Whatever are you doing here in France?”

“Zayn, will ye accompany me to the balcony?” Liam asks, without looking at Zayn.

“But we were just having a conversation about our relation,” the Captain says, sighing with fake sadness. “And I would not be worried by me, Lord Payne. It seems as if someone is trying to poison your husband.

In flash, Liam has his hand twisting into the front of the Captain’s shirt, but it does not deter the Captain. Liam shakes with fury, but his voice remains quiet and controlled.

“Is that a threat?” Liam murmurs.

The Captain laughs at this. Still holding the glass he had confiscated towards Liam, he hands it to him. “I would familiarize yourself with poison, Lord Payne. I can smell it a mile away. I thought you would appreciate that I pulled it from your husband’s hands.”

It feels as if cotton has been shoved into Zayn’s ears as he listens to the conversation between the two men. There is a sturdy hand upon his back, and Zayn tries to express his gratitude because he feels out of balance, but his mouth also feels as if cotton has been shoved into it.

There is a moment where Liam looks at him and Zayn wonders why he looks so alarmed, but the next moment he feels as if he is falling and everything around him turns black.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiii! So we are pretty close to the end of things. I was thinking 13 chapters but as I write 12, I think there needs to be 14. But we're almost done! This is officially my longest fic and I originally just wanted to write a short drabble lmao. I was reading fics for another fandom and they were like 300k+ and i was like wtf. I really enjoyed writing this fic but with it being so long it was draining at times haha. 
> 
> Also, since i post a lot of non ziam/1d on tumblr, I have a tag for those who specifically follow me for fic related stuff. That way you don't have to scroll through my blog and stuff to look for any answered asks [here](http://zipplekink.tumblr.com/tagged/fic+asks). 
> 
> Because of the whole time stuff, writing past events in Zayn's life may be a little confusing because technically Zayn is in the past during his present time so hopefully I've written it in a way that is understandable. If it isn't, please let me know! 
> 
> **And one more important thing** \- there is implied pedophilia in this chapter. it is very brief, not descriptive at all, but it is important. it is one of those things in the show where I was unsure whether I should or shouldn't keep. If you have questions about it before you read, please message me!

 

**May 1996 - Before The Stones**

The wind whistles through the air, adding to the already unsettling feeling Zayn has as he wanders through the field. Cracked tombs are scattered around, each one printed with a single name of a Clan that had died here. The hair on the back of his neck had stood up the moment he had spotted them. He doesn’t believe in ghosts much, but there is a feeling skating across his skin that’s making him  consider it.

“It was a terrible loss for Scotland Highlanders,” Professor Blackthorn says, as he leads Zayn through the stones. Despite the cool breeze, the professor tucks his jacket under his armpit as he flicks through the small book he holds. “So many died that only the names of the Clans that were destroyed were printed on the stones. There were heaps of bodies, too mangled to identify. And if every man who died that night had their own tomb, well, there would be no grass left on this field.”

Zayn tries to imagine a battle happening where he stands. Two hundred years previously, the weapons that had been used and the men would have been so different than the soldiers and battles he has seen while serving in the war that it is difficult to do so.

“Your Clan?” Zayn questions.

The professor is a nice enough man, but he loses Zayn when he goes on and on with a distant look like he is remembering the event as if he were there. He is old enough that Zayn can almost believe it.

“Aye,” Professor Blackhorn says as he changes direction and throws a shaky hand towards one stone. “Clan Horan of Castle Leoch. Ye should visit if ye be willin’. It is no but ruin now, but if it is history ye are lookin’ for, it is the place.”

“I did, a few days ago,” Zayn admits as he stares at the stone. It is crumbling, and in a few decades he feels as if it will be gone. A part of history erased, the people who had died forgotten. “I am looking into my mother’s heritage. I traced her back to Castle Leoch in the late eighteenth century. Brannan. Donal Brannan.”

“Aye?” Professor Blackthorn asks, excitement lighting in his eyes as he starts moving again. They pass over familiar names, names Zayn has seen as he has searched through the records. MacTavish, FitzGibbons, Camran, O’Cain. “They were both Brannan and O’Braonain in Castle Leoch, but I dinna believe Donal to be one and it was in the middle of the centruy, around the Battle of Culloden actually. I have records back at the library, if ye are in interest?”

“Yes, thank you,” Zayn says. He rests in front of one stone, tracing the shape of the letters. There is a heavy feeling settled over the field, like the Highlanders that died here in the Battle of Culloden have stayed to make those in future generations mourn their loss.

“If ye are lookin’ into the Brannan name, I would research the stones of Craigh na Dun. Ye know them, yes? No too far from here. Many of the soldiers who fought in the battle had to change their surnames. It could verra well be O’Braonain or Mac Branan.”

“I was thinking of visiting them before I leave back for England,” Zayn admits, interrupting the professor before he can ramble on until he loses Zayn again.

It is true; he had planned on visiting the stones. One of the reasons that visiting Scotland felt so necessary is because he had found many books and letters about the country, and those stones, in his mother’s things when he had finally gotten the courage to go through their storage shed. She had visited once, had loved the magical feeling of them and he wanted to go there to pretend that she was there with him.

The unsettling feeling builds as he thinks about it, as if someone is watching him. Maybe his mother is here with him after all.

“Good idea lad. Oh! That clan there was decimated in the Battle of Culloden. There was no a Payne to exist after. Not directly. If you trace the name back far enough, ye will find a connection to my own line but -”

Zayn realizes he is still tracing over the name, Payne, when Professor Blackthorn speaks. He pulls his hand away as that heavy feeling surrounding seeps in through his pores.

“Do you have anywhere to show me a bit less daunting? I am afraid that I am feeling a bit sad by the death I feel here.”

Concern crosses Professor Blackthorn’s features but he does not push it. Instead, he cups Zayn by the elbow to lead him away from the tombstones.

**April 1745 - Current**

“Zayn! Aye Sassenach, ye are killin’ me!”

Zayn feels as if he is lying inside of an oven with the heat that clings to his skin and the sweat that pours off of him like he’s in a rain shower. Liam’s voice is distant, but he is aware of a body close beside him.

“I believe ye are merely sufferin’ from a dream if ye would only open yer eyes and see me!”

Zayn does open his eyes, but he cannot see Liam through the tears that build over his eyelids. Relief washes over him as the last thing he remembers is Liam pushing up against the Captain, but pain seeps through him more powerfully.

He had not been dreaming, but remembering his first time visiting Culloden. Why had he not recognized the name before? And his mother’s notes?

“Ye are alright. No poison, but ye just dropped, Sassenach. Ye have been asleep for two days. Now ye look as if ye were tortured while ye slept.”

There is no pain when Zayn rolls to his side to tuck his face into Liam’s chest, to surround himself with the musky scent of his husband. But the pain in his chest is as if he has been stabbed repeatedly in the ribcage.

“I ken well how true dreams may seem,” Liam whispers softly, his hand slipping through the hair at the back of Zayn’s head to pet him softly. “I will no rest until I find who did this to ye. Do ye remember who handed ye the drink, Sassenach?”

Pushing against Liam’s embrace, Zayn turns until he can face Liam. With his tears dried, he can see the look of concern on Liam’s face, but it only makes his chest ache more. “It was not a bad dream, Liam. I remembered something. I visited Culloden in nineteen hundred and ninety six. A historian, he told me there was a Brannan at Castle Leoch in the eighteenth century. Around this time in the eighteen century.”

Liam’s eyes trace over Zayn’s face as he tickles his fingers over Zayn’s scalp. There is no understanding in his eyes and Zayn sighs wetly. It feels as if he is having an allergic reaction; his throat is tight and his tongue feels too thick in his mouth as if he may choke on it.

“Do you know of any other Brannans?” Zayn waits for Liam to shake his head before he speaks again. He cannot decide how to explain his thoughts in a way that will make sense to Liam. It barely makes sense to him. “Well if there is a record of me in the Castle still in my time, that means - that means our attempts to stop - to stop -”

Liam’s hand is warm when it cups over Zayn’s cheek to guide his head back against his chest. The cracked and crumbling tombstone is inked to the back of his eyelids, the sound of Professor Blackthorn’s ancient voice telling him not a Payne survived echoes in his ears.

“Dinna be discouraged,” Liam says, his voice clear and calm. “Ye no will die on that field, Zayn.”

An almost hysterical sounding laugh bursts past Zayn’s lips before he can stop it. He pulls back again and despite the pain he feels, he cannot help but laugh at Liam.

“I am not worried about me, you fool!” Zayn says with a sad sob coated in laughter. “If something happens to you I might as well die myself!”

“Dinna say that, Sassenach. Fainting has messed with yer thoughts,” Liam says disapprovingly. His brows are furrowed and his lips pressed into a frown. There is no softness to his eyes, but they hold a fierceness that Zayn only sees when Liam is trying to assure him of how he feels about him. “I have faith that we will succeed in stopping this, but if we dinna - ye will return to yer sisters if something is to happen to me. I need yer word.”

Zayn gapes at Liam for a moment before pushing up from the bed. His head spins for a second, and there is a painful grip in his belly that reminds him he has not eaten in two days. “And will you give me your word that you will come with me? And you will not fight and die on that field?”

The answer is on Liam’s face before he speaks. “Ye ken well that I canna let my people fight in a battle without fightin’ beside them. I can do that knowing ye are safe with yer family. Yer sisters are the only ones I trust to care for ye the way I would.”

Liam offers him his hands and Zayn takes them without hesitation. It is his responsibility to take care of his sisters, but he does not say so as he has not been doing a good job of doing that as of late. “I cannot leave you.”

There is a smile on Liam’s face, a soft one that makes Zayn want to cry again. “We are one, Sassenach. It is no possible for us to ever truly be separate. I need your word.”

Reluctantly, Zayn nods. “You have my word, Liam.”

*

Since waking, Olivier has been glued to him even stronger than before. He is constantly running his little fingers over Zayn’s forehead to see if he is warm. There are piles of food surrounding his bed, which Zayn has been ordered to stay in, but he is too full to continue eating.

“Mi’lord ordered me to tend to you,” Olivier explains as he tries to pat a cold cloth against Zayn’s forehead. “He told me you are the most important and I must treat you like a precious stone until he returns.”

Zayn snorts fondly. “He did not say that.”

“Aye,” Olivier says, trying out the word before pouting like he does not like the sound of it. “He told me not to tell you, though.”

Gently, Zayn guides Olivier’s hand away from him to pull the boy onto his lap. He still feels a little weak, but alert. He is afraid of sleeping again, of having no control over whether the tombstone enters his thoughts again or not. It is difficult to do so while awake.  “Well, I am ordering you to just sit with me. There is no need to tend to me.”

Olivier sighs. “You are puttin’ me in a hard place, mi’lord.”

At nine years old, Olivier is quite small, fitting against Zayn’s chest the way Safaa had when she was little. He hums the same way Safaa had when Zayn had pet her hair and sang to her. Zayn knows he will keep his word and return to his sisters, but he does not believe he will feel as happy as he once did knowing he left Liam behind.

“Where did that husband of mine go, anyway?”

“Madame Jeanne’s. He invited the Master to visit you, and he said he did not want to be around him,” Olivier explains sleepily.

“The Master? Louis?”

Olivier nods as he pulls from Zayn’s chest to look at him with worried eyes. “Are you mad? You sound mad. Mi’lord had the Master to tend to you when you fell. He is supposed to tell mi’lord what was in the drink.”

“I am not mad,” Zayn explains. As much as Liam dislikes Louis, he never thought Liam would call for his assistance. “Surprised. When is he due? Why don’t you return to Madame Jeanne and keep an eye on your lord. It is more fun with him than watching me sleep, I am sure.”

Olivier tucks his face into the palm of his hand as he giggles. “I did say that to mi’lord and he said he quite enjoys watching you sleep.”

Zayn’s face grows hot as he lifts Olivier off of his lap. “Go on, go on.”

“As you wish, mi’lord. But are you sure you do not want more to eat?”

With a gentle push against Olivier’s head, Zayn guides him towards the door. “No. My pants are going to rip at the seams if I eat even one more bite.”

During the daytime, the mansion is always busy with servants. Most do not speak to Zayn unless Zayn addresses them first, and even when he does they become flustered and cannot hold much of a conversation. Today, they look at him with expectant eyes but Zayn does not start a conversation. He does not want to be doted on any longer. He wants to find Harry while he waits for Louis’ visit.

He looks in his sleeping quarters and in the kitchens, he searches through the common areas and peers out the windows, but he cannot find him. He considers searching through the grounds, though it seems unlikely he will find him there, when a servant announces Louis’ arrival.

The energy surrounding Louis is as bright as it once was when he greets Zayn. Zayn does not feel as bright as he wants to ask Louis if it is possible to change the future, but Louis cuts him off when he presses a vial into his hand.

“It should have killed you,” Louis announces after peering around the room to make sure they are alone. “It is a potion. Whoever concocted it did not know what they were doing.”

“Potion?” Zayn murmurs as he peers at the clear liquid in the vial. It should have killed you. Zayn feels as if death has surrounded him since he was little. Maybe it always will.

“Yes. It is a truth summoning potion. Put it into a drink and the one who consumes it will be forced to tell the truth,” Louis explains. “But too much of it can kill you.”

Zayn shoves the vial back into Louis’ hand, a fear filling him. The only person at the Duke’s who he thinks could have done this is the Captain, but the Captain has had plenty of chances to kill him before. And despite the anger inside of the Captain, he had never thought the Captain wanted to.

The Captain had taken a poisonous drink from him and boasted about saving his life. Had he snuck him another one? The moments between his confronation with Liam and passing out are a blur, fading more and more from his memory each day.

Louis clicks his teeth as he pokes Zayn in the chest. “Someone suspects something of you, Zayn. I am sure you know to watch your back. If anyone starts asking too many questions, I would not trust them.”

With a sigh of frustration, Zayn collapses onto the hard armchair. “Since I have been here, people have decided the truth about me without needing me to confirm it.”

“People have the tendency to do that, Zayn. I am sure it is no different in the twentieth century.”

Zayn nibbles at his bottom lip. He has only been here since the summer before, but it feels as if he has spent most of his life in the eighteenth century. “When in the twentieth century did you visit?”

Louis’s eyebrows shoot upwards, his face softening. “I have been waiting for you to ask. I have met you twice before, Zayn. In 1975 and 2015.”

“Seventy-five?” Zayn asks. How _old_ is Louis? “I was only three and -”

Zayn freezes at the sad look that falls onto Louis’ face. _2015_? Is that the time he will return to if he were to go through the stones? He will have missed twenty years of his sister’s lives?

A sudden rush of nausea fills him and he doubles over, clenching onto his stomach. He cannot bear the thought of leaving Liam, but there are so many reasons he should just leave this time. As comfortable as he is, these last few months here have been one thing after the other and he feels as if he is slowly falling apart, like a knot being untied.

Louis kneels before him to press the back of his hand to Zayn’s forehead. “The potion must be in your system still. You are hot to the touch.”

“Two thousand and fifteen?” Zayn murmurs slowly. “I am gone from my sisters for twenty years?”

Louis sighs as he digs into the small satchel he has hanging from his waist. “No. Fuck, I thought I brought the antidote. ‘Fuck’ is such a nice word, don’t you think? One of my favorite cuss words.”

Zayn tucks his face into his lap, breathing heavily through his nose for a moment before turning to rest his cheek on his knee. “You met me when I was three,” he says, attempting to rid his confusing thoughts about what Louis’ ‘no’ means. “Did you meet my parents?”

Louis’ face softens as he nods. “Yes. I was looking for who closed the stones. I was hoping to find Willahelma, but I found Patricia instead. You have her eyes.”

“Tell me about her,” Zayn asks quietly. He remains in his folded over position as Louis sits before him and talks.

An ache fills him as Louis explains how he met her at the park she used to take him too by their house. He longs for his sisters and he longs for his parents. Missing his parents is a feeling he is used to, but suddenly it feels as if the news is being delivered for the first time.

Zayn pulls up quickly, wiping at the start of tears. He needs to rest, he thinks, but his busy mind is going to stop him from doing so. Maybe he needs to run? He hates running, but it feels as if he just needs to move.

“I need Liam,” Zayn tells Louis, who stands up after him frantically.

“We need to travel to my shop for the antidote first,” Louis exclaims. “I do not trust that it will just remove itself from your system.”

Zayn waves him off as he heads for the door. The spring air is warmer usually, but the surprisingly cold air makes him shiver the moment the door opens.

“Zayn Malik!” Louis exclaims, his voice coated in frustration.

Whipping around, Zayn glares at him. “Do not call me that.”

Louis crosses his arms over his chest as he huffs out. “To my shop, and then we will search for Liam. I will tell you about your father, and when I see you in 2015. If you want to know.”

Zayn is no longer a knot but bunny ears instead, just a few tugs away from being a loose string. He does not answer Louis, and turns to continue his progress out of the house.

The sound of horse hooves on the stony path towards the house alerts him of Harry’s arrival. For a moment he is relieved, knowing Harry might be enough to ease the hysteria he feels building inside of him, but there is a look on Harry’s face that has him running to meet him.

“Get on the horse,” Harry says, as he holds a hand out to help Zayn up. “You are the only one who can talk some sense into Liam. I failed and Niall is encouraging him.”

“What?” Zayn blurts. “Harry what do you mean?”

“He challenged Captain Malik to a duel,” Harry says. From the doorway, Louis crosses his arms over his chest but he gives Zayn a look of defeat. Zayn wants to thank him, but his head spins with panic and his body fills with it. He can feel his heart pounding against his temples and making it difficult to hear what Harry says next.

“I ken ye dinna want to take the chance of Liam dying,” Harry says, seemingly casual. “Or going to prison again.”

Zayn parts his lips to respond, his hands reaching out to grab onto Harry’s waist as he feels himself slipping from the back of the horse. It is distant, the sound of his name, but he feels as if he has suddenly been sucked into a dream again.

*

The pounding of his heart has always been exciting. During a run or a duel, adrenaline pouring through him has always been something he has enjoyed. But right now, his heart pounds from anger. It fills him, consumes him, makes him feel as if he is another person.

Liam grunts as he swings his sword, using every ounce of force his body can muster. It slams hard into the Captain’s own, making his ears ring with the sound of metal clinging together.

“Ye will no leave here alive,” Liam grunts, “I give ye my word, Malik.”

The Captain laughs. He fights with an air of cockiness, but there are times when the sharp edge of Liam’s sword comes close to his body that the amusement disappears from his face. “I do not wish to kill you, Liam. I never did.”

Liam pushes his sword forward, missing the Captain’s side by a mere centimeter. He has always loved this dance, one Niall’s father taught him. He wants to teach Zayn, but he quickly pushes that thought away or else he has to think of how he is in the middle of breaking his vow.

“Dinna fash, ye will no kill me,” Liam tells him.

Red creeps up the Captain’s face as the move. He is not a very skilled swordsman, not compared to the men Liam has dueled in his day. He is too defensive, making little to no attempts at actually cutting Liam with the sword.

Confusion makes frustration roll through him. He wishes the Captain would just try to harm him so the anger inside of him can continue. Liam does not want to remember the things he has tried so hard to forget, but he lets them flood into his mind.

“Argh!” Liam hollers as he pushes his sword forward. He savors the kick back of the sword plunging into something hard, and the grunt that passes the man’s lips.

The captain’s sword falls to the ground beside him, hands clutching over his lap as Liam himself falls to his knees. Blood seeps through his fingers, but the Captain laughs hoarsely. It is not a surprising response, but Liam’s chest heavies with disappointment.

Something inside of him wanted to see the Captain cry and beg the way the Captain wanted him to be. Something that Liam will never admit, even to Zayn.

Liam’s shoulders heave with harsh breathes as he holds his sword threateningly over the Captain. He can so easily swipe the sword down, but it is not Malik’s face he sees staring back at him, but Zayn’s.

He knows it is not Zayn. He is not dreaming again, or hallucinating. He has not hallucinated in so long, but one swipe down and Zayn may never exist. If he never exists will Liam forget about him completely?

“Do it,” the Captain laughs. “Show that husband of yours that you are no different than me.”

The sword falls from Liam’s hands before he can decide what to do. There is the distant sound of Niall’s voice, despite Liam telling him that he must stay away while they duel. He does not trust that Niall will let it end fairly if Liam were the one to lose. He does not know that it could destroy Zayn, but even if Liam were to tell him, he thinks Niall would not care.

The Captain continues to laugh, but Liam talks his rage into staying inside. “My mother may hate me, but she will seek vengeance. Us Maliks tend to care for each other that way.”

Desperately, Liam wants to grab him by the throat and tell him every miserable thought he has had since Wentworth prison. He wants to tell him the pain he sometimes feels when he looks at Zayn, he wants to tell him about the nightmares, but he does not want to bring the Captain joy.

Strong hands grab Liam’s before he can move, yanking them behind his back. Guards flood into the open field, pulling the Captain to his feet as they too yank his hands behind his back, despite the flood of blood slipping down his legs.

“You are under arrest,” a strong voice says in his ear, “for dueling.”

The guard is not careful with either of them as they pull him across the field, making him trip over his feet. A numbness takes over Liam, replacing the anger and allowing him to rid the guilt that is starting to fill him.

He did not kill Malik, but he injured him to the point where he may not be able to reproduce at all.

“Oh,” Liam whispers woundedly to himself. He can picture Zayn’s face with ease. Will it take time to disappear? Maybe Zayn is from Bashar’s line. Panic pushes into him, making him feel as if he is choking onto it.

Maybe if he clings onto the memory of Zayn’s face, he will never lose it.

“I will break your arm if you do not quit moving,” the guard threatens in his ear.

“Aye,” Liam laughs. “Break every bone in my body. It will no feel as bad as the way I have broken myself.”

*

Unfamiliar hands warm over his skin. They are not Liam’s, the fingers are too skinny and the palms too soft. They move over his torso and poke into him. Zayn is aware of a distant muttering, but he wants to ignore it and stay asleep.

“I dinna like ye touchin’ him like that,” he hears. Harry, he thinks. “Is no right. Ye best no be doin’ this for impure reasons.”

“Shh,” Louis snaps. There is a burning smell in the air, a familiar smell but Zayn cannot pin point how he knows it. “His soul is weak. It has been for some time. His aura, muddy, gray.”

“Ach,” Harry grunts. “Ye are a witch now, aren’t ye?”

“Did I not tell you to be quiet?” Louis says, his hands leaving Zayn for only a moment before returning. “I am a healer, the same as Zayn. Now will you let me heal him?”

The unhappy murmuring continues for a moment before warmth rushes through him. It seeps into his bones and massages over his muscles. Zayn sighs involuntarily as it fills his chest, heating up his heart.

“Liam will gut me if he ken I let ye touch his husband like this,” Harry goes on grumbling.

Louis sighs, removing his hands again. “Go then, you will of more use helping to get Liam out of prison, or finding out who tried to poison him. Send the young boy in, I am sure he will be of more help.”

Harry grumbles something in Gaelic, forgetting that Louis can speak it. “Olivier is too shaken. I will no send him in until Zayn is awake - or what is plaguing Zayn may plague the laddie as well.”

“Where is he?” Zayn breathes shakily, making both of the men let out soft gasps of surprise. Zayn does not open his eyes or move, but his fingers dig into the soft blanket someone had thrown over his waist. “Where is Ollie?”

“Last I have seen of the lad he was hidin’ under yer bed,” Harry answers, as Louis shifts a hand under Zayn’s head to lift it.

Blinking his eyes eyes open proves to be difficult as the bright light makes them water and squeeze shut. Something cold and hard touches his lips before he parts them and allows the water to seep through and down his dry throat.

“Get him,” Zayn murmurs, forcing himself to sit and open his eyes. “Why is he scared?”

Louis attempts to touch him again, but Zayn swats his hand away. The overwhelming feeling that had been inside of him is gone, filled with a numbness that he is not sure if he likes or not. Even when thinking of Liam dueling the Captain, nothing sparks inside of him. He is still here, the Captain must be alive.

Though, he knows he should be angry that Liam broke his vow, and hurt that Liam did not care whether or not Zayn would survive it.

“It seems whoever the Captain gets their hands on cannot shake the memory of it there after,” Harry mumbles before turning to walk out the door.

Louis stares at Zayn for a long moment after Harry leaves. “Apparently your husband decided to duel to protect the young boy. It will not be difficult to get him out of prison, I can assure you that. You may want to start claiming your true last name.”

Guilt seeps into his numbness, but not enough to make him ache any longer. Of course Liam would have an honorable reason for doing something dishonorable. “I must see Princess Lily. She will help me.”

“And she may expect of you a favor in return,” Louis says calmly. “She returned her favor. Yes, I know of the black hellebore. She spoke to me about her need for it, but I do not carry it in my shop. The knowledge of whose child it would have been may help you win a favor over with King Guillaume.”

“I have better morals than that,” Zayn grumbles.

“Do you? Since Liam is in prison, probably remembering the last time he had been in prison?”

Zayn falls back onto the bed so he does not have to look at Louis, but the ceiling instead. “I do not,” Zayn sighs. “But I will use myself rather than use someone else.”

Soft footsteps sound through the room, ending their conversation. Olivier is hesitant in his movements, but he becomes more comfortable when Zayn wraps his arms around him to pull him close. He does not cry nor tremble, but he does not move from Zayn’s embrace either.

“I have never seen mi’lord so angry. I hope I did not anger him,” Olivier whispers.

“He was not angry with you. But with the man. Did he harm you?”

“No,” Olivier says without hesitation. “But he had quite a scary face. I did not like when he touched my cheek. I only like when you touch my cheek.”

Zayn does so softly, humming low in his throat until Olivier’s eyes fall closed. It is not until he pulls away to tuck Olivier into the blankets that he realizes that Louis has disappeared.

*

Nerves make his hands shake, but he clasps them in front of himself in hopes that the French King with not notice. King Guillaume only stares at him, his own hands clasped in front of him. It is a bit awkward as neither one of them speaks.

“Your husband was arrested for dueling,” Guillaume finally says after a moment. “Tis a very serious crime.”

“Would you not seek justice if a man put hands on your son?” Zayn asks, tilting his chin slightly in hopes that it makes him appear more confident.

Guillaume rests against the desk he stands in front of. “Son? You mean the dirty boy that is always chasing your husband’s tail? Born at Madame Jeanne’s, correct? Son of a whore?”

Zayn falters for a moment, which drags the King’s lips up into a smile. “Yes, I have my men keeping an eye on you. I am always a bit uneasy with Maliks around. Sorcery and the likes are forbidden here, as I am sure you know, but I will not tempt to anger the King of England by just seeing you here. Though, if you were to practice magic, that will be a different story entirely.”

Zayn contemplates whether he should deny these accusations or go along with them. He cannot read the King, he does not have the slightest idea what his intentions are or what he should do to win over his favor.

“You may tempt to anger the King of England if he were to know you imprisoned the man he assigned to protect me,” Zayn tries as he squeezes his fingers together tightly. “I am sure he would also be angered by your working with the Bonnie Prince.”

The King pushes from the table quickly, his face angered. “A spy, are you?”

“No,” Zayn says quickly. “Merely a kin of his Bard.”

The King’s eyes narrow as he wags his finger towards Zayn. “He will not be happy about your husband’s workings with him either, I suspect.”

Zayn lets out a mocked sigh. “He will believe the Bard over you, and the Bard will believe I. It is up to you, your majesty.”

Zayn bows deeply, the hairs standing up on the back of his neck with the fear of King Guillaume striking him, but he does not. Instead, he stands there, white faced when Zayn stands again.

“You will not threaten me in my own castle,” he says, but his voice shakes when he does. So much for winning over his favor, Zayn thinks.

“I give you my word my husband and I will leave France the moment he is free, and I will not speak of it to the King,” Zayn promises.

Guillaume pads up to him and reaches out to press a finger under Zayn’s chin. He peers at him for a moment before speaking. “You are quite beautiful, did you know that?”

“Yes,” Zayn breathes, his body stiff with the fear of moving and upsetting the King.

Guillaume gives Zayn a grin, which looks almost as twisted as the Captain’s. Zayn cannot understand why people are as fond of him as they are. “It would be quite beneficial to have a Malik in my service, and a man as beautiful as you in my bed.”

A chill seeps down Zayn’s spine as he swallows. Guillaume has bony arms, arms that look as if they could break easily if he tries to touch him. But that would not work in his favor at getting Guillaume to free Liam from prison.

Guillaume’s palm slides over Zayn’s cheek and his thumb plays at Zayn’s bottom lip. “Unfortunately, I do not sleep with those already wedded. A shame it is, really. I cannot have you in my service and not be seen as a hypocrite by my people, so I shall ask one favor other than you leaving France.”

Relief fills Zayn as he nods his head. “Name it.”

Guillaume rubs at his bottom lip for a moment longer before letting his hand fall to his side. “I have a terrible rash that must be healed. I have hired healer after healer, and yet the rash is still of continuous annoyance.”

“I can do that. Let me see this rash?”

Zayn bites at his bottom lip to keep himself from laughing as Guillaume’s hands immediately go to the laces of his pants before shucking them past his hips. Zayn diverts his eyes out of respect as he tries to figure out an ingredient from this time that would treat an STD.

“Make it go away and your husband is free,” Guillaume says.

“Well first, do not touch it,” Zayn snaps in scolding as he watches Guillaume do exactly that.

*

The small portion of sky he can see through the caged window is a brilliant shade of red and gold. It does not light the cell well enough, but Liam prefers the different array of colors to the regular sea of blue.

“Do you think the sky remains the same through time?” Liam asks, leaning into the stone wall that separates him and whoever resides in the cell beside him. “That it will look as beautiful as it does now in two hundred years time?”

“ _Je ne sais pas_ ,” the voice responds. _I do not know_. Liam frowns. His neighbor is not very talkative, but Liam talks to waste time, or to not think about time, the other man does not have to respond.

It has been six days. He has counted the rise and fall of the sun and scratched it into the small dusting of dirt in the corner of the cell. The bowls of food that have been given to him have been stacked in front of the door, untouched. Even when the guard gave him meat, as request of the King, Liam did not touch it.

There is an ache in his belly, but it is in the far back of his mind. The only thing he wants to think about is the color of the sky when Zayn returns home.

He must. Zayn had given his word that if anything were to happen to him, he would.

“I hope it is the same,” Liam mumbles.

There is an echo of bodies scrambling as the doors in the hallway open, alerting the prisoners to the guards arrival. Liam remains where he sits, fingers digging into the soft of his pants as he stares at the rising sun.

He hopes it may be the same in two hundred years, but he does not know if it even matters. Zayn may not even exist then. Liam has tried asking the guards about him, and he tries to tell himself that if he still has memories of Zayn, then he exists.

But it is all so confusing to being with that he cannot help the ache that takes over him whenever he thinks of how he may have lost him.

“Payne!”

Liam rests his cheek against the cold wall. The memories of the last time he was pressed to a stone wall like this are better then thinking about his fears of Zayn. He tries to think of those, but thinking of the Captain’s face makes him think of Zayn, and it is a vicious cycle.

“Payne! Get up, you have a visitor.”

With a flicker of hope inside of him, Liam finally removes himself from where he has sat for the last day. His legs are stiff and there is a pain in his back, and he does not care that he may look a fool stumbling across the cell to reach the door.

A small, caged window separates his face from his visitor. It takes him a few moments to realize the face looking back at him is too old and much too delicate looking to be Zayn. But it is the same face nonetheless, except the sharper shape of the eyes and the fuller lips.

“I assured the guards that if I enter you will bring me no harm. You will not make a liar out of me, will you?”

“No. you have my word,” Liam says before stepping back to allow the door to open. _She will seek vengeance_ comes to mind, but fear does not come along with it.

The woman is dressed as a commoner, but the way she enters the cell with her shoulders back and chin tilted tells Liam that she is not. There is a soft smile upon her lips, and her eyes are twinkling with curiosity as she gazes them over Liam.

“I have waited a long time to meet you, Liam,” she says. “I did not know that it would be like this, though.”

“Who are you?” Liam asks, forgetting all formalities.

The woman holds a hand out to Liam, her delicate fingers wiggling. He has an idea of who she is, but he has met so many Maliks over the last few months that he would not be surprised if this was another one that he did not know about.

“Maira,” the woman says.

Liam finally takes her hand. Her skin is just as soft as Zayn’s and turning it, he spots the same ink he has seen on Zayn’s hip. A small dove drawn over the joint of her thumb.

“Beauchamp the Bard,” Liam comments as he smoothes his thumb over the ink. Despite the thousands of times he has touched Zayn’s, he still expects the ink to show on his own finger but it does not.

“Well,” Maira starts softly as she pulls her hand away. “The King does not prefer the world to know that I am his wife so it is a title I do not prefer, but you may call me it if you wish.”

“Wife?” Liam blurts, though it is not the most important question he has.

“Yes,” Maira laughs, a soft giggle that reminds him of Zayn. “But that does not matter, does it? At least, it is not why I have visited you.”

Liam crosses his arms to tuck his fingers under his armpits. “Why have you visited me?”

“I would like very much if you did not discuss my visit with your husband,” Maira says. The softness slips from her voice with a more serious tone replacing it. “I would like your word, specifically.”

“I do not lie to him,” Liam says without hesitation.

A grin takes over Maira’s lips. “It is not lying if you never bring it up, is it? Only if he asks?”

Liam only stares back at her. _Yes_ , but it feels wrong to keep something like this hidden from him.

“Besides,” Maira says as she paces through the small cell. “He will not be around for much longer. The Battle of Culloden. You have discussed it, yes?”

Despite her words, relief washes through Liam as he hopes Maira means that wounding the Captain did not harm Zayn. “Is Zayn descended from the Captain?”

Maira looks taken aback by this question. “Javadd? Oh, no. I know this time traveling must be quite confusing for you.”

“And ye understand it?” Liam huffs out in amusement. “I highly doubt that.”

Another giggle. Liam wants to keep making her giggle enough that Zayn giggling is the only thing he thinks of while locked in this place.

“Well, I do not understand how it is _possible_. But I do know you need a gem, and that the time that passes here has passed in the time Zayn is from. Two years, correct?”

Maira indicates her ear, which is completely outlined in sparkling jewels, from the fleshy bottom to the cartilage at the top. She starts to remove one, but Liam waves her off. Zayn has emeralds in his ears, he almost always wears them.

“You are from the future then,” Liam realizes. “Or the past?”

 “Yes,” Maira murmurs thoughtfully. “Two thousand and fifteen. If Zayn were to return home today, he would arrive just in time for my mother to give birth to me.”

She had been correct, Liam does not understand time traveling. Everything she says is overwhelming and confusing. “Well, a very happy birthday to ye.”

Maira snorts as she cups Liam’s face. The deep wrinkles by her eyes tell him she is at least forty years of age, but born years after Zayn, who is still in his twenties. He had heard Louis say the Captain was born in this time with his own ears. He is sure of it.

“I need to be assured that Zayn will return home,” she says softly, a sudden sadness in her eyes. “It will be very difficult for him, for a long time, but he needs to come home.”

Liam pulls away from her touch as if it burns. It is a conversation they already had, but talking about it with her makes it so his heart throbs painfully in his chest. “We have already agreed to it.”

“I need you to make sure it happens, Liam,” Maira goes on, pleading. “He will not wish to part from you, but his sisters grieve. Tell him Safaa -”

“Safaa,” Liam interrupts. He smiles around the name out of habit from listening to Zayn speak of her for hours on end. “Is she no well?”

“No,” Maira responds as she takes Liam’s hands into her own and squeezes. “Despair clings to her greatly. She was very little when their parents passed, you see. She does not cope with losing Zayn well and she is still a child.”

“Can you help free me from here? I must return to Scotland,” Liam goes on quickly. If he talks fast enough, he hopes it rids the tightness in his throat and prevents the tears from pushing past his eyelids. “I would like to bring Zayn home.”

“Thank you, Liam,” Maira whispers. There are tears glistening in her eyes. “He must come home the day before the Battle of Culloden. That is what happened. Zayn told me.”

There is a crack in Liam’s chest, and he does not think he can keep the flood of pain from spilling out. He tries, grabbing onto Maira’s hands as hard as he can just to stop the shaking in them. “We are supposed to prevent the Battle from happening.”

“Zayn will not leave if you do,” Maira explains. “He will not return if he thinks you are still alive.”

Liam swallows thickly, his throat aching with the force. “He cares for Safaa a great deal, I ken it well. He will return if he knows she is - is she in danger?”

“Zayn is her legal guardian. She will be put back into this place designed for children without parents. It is not a good place, but you cannot tell him. Or then you will have to tell him you met me.”

Liam drags a heavy hand down his face to hide the tears from Maira. “I give you my word I will make Zayn return home, but why must that be kept from him?”

Maira tucks a hair behind her ear, hesitating to open the cell gate. “I need to travel through the stones to come to this time. I too, have found the love of my life. I have given birth to a son that I will not have if I do not come through the stones, and I love him greatly. I need this moment to happen, convincing you to get Zayn home to save Safaa. Zayn will not let me through the stones if he knew it was my plan.”

“Why?”

Tears slip down her cheeks as she grips onto the door knob, but she smiles, looking away from Liam as if lost in memory. “When I was a little girl and I was afraid of the dark, he would tell me he would protect me against any monster or any pain because he loved me more than anyone else in the world, even Uncle Liam.”

“Uncle Liam,” Liam repeats quietly, speaking to himself more so than Maira. He has a nephew, he has been called Uncle Liam before, but there is something about someone with Zayn’s face calling him it that makes his chest swell.

“He will not want to lose me, and though he understands what it is like being away from your family and missing them but not wanting to return, he will prevent me from doing the same.”

A sob slips down his throat, choking him until he finds it too difficult to speak. But he must. The intrusive thought is at the front of his mind, begging to be answered. It could not be possible, but these days Liam feels as if impossible is a word that should not exist.

“Are you his daughter then?”

Maira’s eyes grow wide. It would explain why they resemble each other so greatly, and why the Captain and Zayn share a name. But the thought of it makes Liam want to drop to his knees. He has seen the desperate want for a child in Zayn’s eyes when he has spoken of it, and the joy he has with Olivier. But the idea of raising a child with another makes him feel as if he is being tortured again.

But Liam knows that when Zayn returns, he should find someone to love. It would be too selfish of him to wish Zayn to be alone for the rest of his life. Even if no one in the world, this time or two hundred years from now, could love Zayn as much as Liam does, he still should be married and have children.

And Maira said Zayn has spoken about him to her, and it eases him some knowing Zayn does not forget about him.

“No,” Maira finally answers. “I am his niece. Waliyha is my mother. But he helped raise me as if I were. I wish you well, Uncle Liam. Watch out for Zayn. He is not safe with your men.”

+

The boat rocks beneath his feet, the spring air sending a chill across his skin. He feels coated in salt, he tastes it every time he breathes, but he cannot find it in himself to go below deck when the sky is filled with reds and yellows and his husband is in his arms.

Zayn tucks his chin against Liam’s back as he clings to him, his arms wrapped around him to rest against his chest. Liam’s hands cover them, his fingers tracing over every bump of his knuckle. Guillaume had insisted on seeing improvements to his rash before releasing Liam, and it had taken longer than expected. By the time Liam was a free man, he was so thin that Zayn was afraid he would collapse under his touch.

“Sassenach, do ye have a pink sky like this back home?”

Tucking his face in the curve of Liam’s shoulder allows him to press a kiss below his jaw. “Yes.”

“Good,” Liam breathes, relief sounding in his voice. He has been a bit distant since they left the prison and came straight to the boat that Niall had arranged for them. Spending time in a prison again could have triggered him, could have made him relive the time in Wentworth prison.

But he looks at Zayn with a fire of passion in his eyes, not one of anger. He does not look at him as if he is seeing the Captain’s face.

“Why is that good?”

Liam releases Zayn’s hands to turn around in his arms. He guides him backwards, until his back presses to wooden wall of the cabin. Zayn wants to speak about missing the sunset, but he does not want to stop seeing the glow of happiness on Liam’s face.

“I am verra happy to be returnin’ to Scotland,” Liam admits quietly as he traces his fingers down Zayn’s sides. “May I tell ye what I want when we return?”

“Yes,” Zayn breathes, his voice hitching when Liam’s fingers curl around the back of his thigh. The air is cool around them but Liam is burning hot against him. Liam licks at his lips as he pulls Zayn thigh to part his legs, causing a heat to burn deep in the low of his belly.

“I want to lay ye upon my bed,” Liam starts quietly as he ducks his head forward to whisper the words into Zayn’s ear. “And kiss along yer skin.”

Liam has pushed him into a corner, hidden from view, but it is one that can be discovered with ease. Zayn tucks his face against the side of Liam’s head to muffle the soft moan that passes his lips as Liam pulls Zayn’s leg farther to grind against him. He wonders for a moment, if this is why Liam had insisted on driving the boat and kicking Niall away to be with Harry.

“I want to spread open your thighs and lay them across the sheets,” Liam goes on before sucking gently on the lobe of Zayn’s ear. “I want ye to try to keep still but I ken ye will no. Ye will pant and fill the air with those sweet squeaking moans that make me shiver as if I was standing naked in a pile of snow.”

“Liam, I do not squeak,” Zayn breathes, turning his head in attempt to capture Liam’s lips with his own, but Liam dodges him and presses his lips to Zayn’s throat instead. Zayn gives up, tilting his head back against the wooden wall to allow Liam to kiss him as he pleases.

“I will take you into my mouth and pleasure you with my fingers,” Liam whispers huskily. “And then -”

Liam takes Zayn’s wrist into his hand before propping Zayn’s hand above their heads, using it as leverage as he rocks his hips down against Zayn’s. Zayn trembles with it, so sensitive from Liam’s touch. It has been weeks since Liam has touched him this way, both of them too preoccupied and too tired in the nighttime.

“I want those thighs spread on top of my hips. I want to see that bum of yours as my cock sinks inside of ye. Ye always look so good stretched around me.”

Zayn moans shakily, forcing his hips back against Liam’s as much as he can. Pleasure builds inside of him, pushing him fast to the edge as if his body is in desperate need of it.

“I want ye to ride un top of me slow, Sassenach, and then we will see what noises ye will no be makin’.”

Liam finally kisses Zayn as he trembles with his orgasm, his fingers digging hard into him. It is not enough, and though his body calms, he still feels as if every nerve in his body is on edge and screaming to be touched again.

“I want that now,” Zayn breathes when Liam finally releases his leg to allow it to fall back to the floor.

Liam pushes a grin against Zayn’s lips. “Ye do remember we have a wee bairn asleep in our cabin? Ye are no quiet enough to no wake Olivier.”

Zayn curls his arms around Liam’s back, pulling him to his chest as he stares out at the sky. The pink is starting to seep away and turn into black. “Despite the trouble we have faced, I have never experienced happiness before the way I have when I am with you.”

There is no response from Liam, but he tucks his face against Zayn’s throat and kisses him softly over his pulse.

“Being away from you this week, it felt as if part of me had been torn away. Like I were missing a leg, or something.”

Liam lifts his head and caresses his cheek softly. There are tears in his eyes, but before Zayn can ask if they are good tears or bad, Liam quiets him with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last scene here was inspired by an episode of Outlander in season three and the line 'we will see what noises ye will no be making' is taken directly from the show because I died twenty times listening to Jamie talk like that and thinking about Liam saying it to Zayn okay haha. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Feedback is always appreciated <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiiii!!! The next chapter after this is already edited and all, so the wait won't be as long I promise <3 <3 (And then there's just the epilogue after that!)
> 
> We're coming close to end and it's been very difficult to write, but thank you for being patient with me! This chapter is a bit shorter (compared to the other ones) just because, even though I'm writing it, angst kills me heart haha. But, I hope you enjoy the chapter, and please let me know what you think ^_^ 
> 
> Also, I changed my tumblr so you can now find me [here](http://zaehyungie.tumblr.com)

** May 2015 - Scotland **

The stiffness in his wrists is becoming a nuisance. They crack easily, his fingers go numb in seconds, and sometimes a pain so sharp rides from his hands to his elbow that it becomes a struggle just to hold a pen, but Zayn is determined.

“ _ Bhaiya _ , what are you up to?”

Glancing at the computer screen, he can see Waliyha’s soft expression. He hadn’t wanted to answer, he had been in the middle of something important. Something life changing, at least for him.

The papers are scattered across his desk. There are books laid open, the text on the pages marked with pink and green highlighter. There is a corkboard in front of him with index cards and old photos tacked up to in a pattern that would be confusing to anyone other than him and his assistant, Marc.

“I’m close. It’s like, you know when there is a word at the tip of your tongue but you just can’t figure out what it is?”

Waliyha sighs patiently, but the wrinkle of her nose tells him that she thinks he is crazed. He is used to the look, but right now he does feel a little crazed.

He is so close.

“Are you going to spend the whole time locked up in that office or will you take Maira out? You know she needs some time with her favorite mamoon.”

Concern touches Waliyha’s voice and Zayn sighs, pushing away the newspaper he reads. It is an old one, and there is something about the author’s name that is holding his attention. Pablo Basra. He can’t figure out what it is, but it’s something.

“We’ve been in Scotland for over two weeks,” Zayn tells her, “we’ve done a lot of sightseeing. She’s out right now with Marc’s nephew.”

Waliyha’s eyes narrow. “The last thing that girl needs is to be around a boy. She went with you to get away from one, remember? He has been by every day asking about her. I’m close to calling the police.”

Anger flickers inside of him. Maira swears her boyfriend isn’t dangerous, but the bruises on her wrists are still lingering and it has been weeks.  “Call the police then, Wal. Don’t take the chance. Marc’s nephew is fourteen. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

A knock at his door has him saying quick goodbyes to Waliyha. The door opens before he can move from his seat, and he falls into it at the sight of the man before him.

He is younger than he remembers, maybe in his teens as opposed to his late twenties. There is still the same ancient look around his eyes, which spark with a curiosity that Zayn has missed.

“Excuse me, Dr. Malik, is it?” 

Zayn nods stiffly, remembering. This is Louis’ first time meeting him as a man rather than a young boy. “Yes, how can I help you?”

Louis saunters in and sits himself in the chair opposite of him as if it is a thing he does every day. He glances at the papers on Zayn’s desk and his smile grows some.

“Are you a historian?”

Zayn coughs. “Ah, no.” There is a flush in his cheeks but he reminds himself that Louis won’t find him crazy. He knows about all of this better than he does. Louis wants the Brannan and Malik clan to find each other again just as much as Zayn does. “Is there something I may help you with?” 

Louis looks at him for a long moment before reaching out for one paper that contains scribbled writings that are so messy that Zayn can barely decipher it, even though it is his own handwriting. Louis flicks through the pages before letting out a soft ‘ah.’

“This is what I believe you are looking for,” he says, jabbing a finger at the picture at the top of the page.

It is an old building, one that looks as if it had burnt down. The sign is gone, but the pole holding it remains. The caption below makes Zayn feel as if his breath is slipping away from him.

_ Fire Destroys Brannon & Malik Paper Company, June 1767. _

** October 1745 - Current **

After adjusting to the soft bed he slept on in France, the ground is cruel against his back. Zayn had thought returning to Scotland meant returning to a home of some sort, with his heart longing for Lallybroch. It was an unrealistic dream, as they could not return, but he had not expected to live in the woods again, sleeping around fires and a growing group of men. 

Soldiers. Liam and Niall were recruiting soldiers and they were quite successful. Zayn hated it.

“Yes, let’s accept your grandfather’s men to fight beside us. What a great plan to get even more Highlander men killed. Tell me more, Liam. Maybe we should start recruiting children!”

There is a tired expression on Liam’s face as he watches Zayn pace around the small hut he had created as the center of camp. It was an attempt to give Zayn something resembling a home, and he had been thankful. He had been, but now he is frustrated. Maybe he is being a little dramatic, but he does not care at the moment. 

“Wonderful. Do not respond. Great conversation skills there, babe. What happened to us being on the same page with this, Liam? The plan was to stop the Battle to save the Highlanders, not try to get more killed.” Zayn placed his hands on his hips, staring at Liam in a silent demand for an answer.

The respond he gets is a patient, but slightly frustrated sigh. Liam prods at his temples for a moment, rubbing small circles over them before he settles his head back against the chair he sits in to look at the ceiling above.

“And if I fail at stopping Culloden what would ye like the outcome to be? A small group of men destined to die, or the British facing against a massive force? A massive force that I believe can defeat the British. If we canna stop Culloden, we must win the battle.”

Liam does not look at Zayn as he speaks, but continues staring upwards. He does not move his head until Zayn is crawling onto his lap, his knees digging into the small space between Liam’s hips and the side of the chair. 

“When are they coming?” Zayn sighs in defeat, though his anger has not disappeared. It has just been joined by a warmth that he always associates with Liam.

“Should be right behind Gregory’s men.”

“Gregory’s men?” Zayn asks in surprise, as he smooths his hands over Liam’s chest where he can feel his heart beating rapidly. 

“Aye,” Liam sighs, a pleased smile on his lips, “Niall is his war chief, and he is preparing for war. He needs his men.”

Gently, Zayn twists his finger around one of Liam’s soft curls. “You know Olivier talks about fighting beside you. You must order him not to.”

“I have,” Liam grumbles. His fingers tickle over Zayn’s arm, trailing upwards slowly until they curl around his wrist to tug his hands from his hair. The little boy follows Liam around like he is a hero of sorts. “I told Olivier the only part of war that he will see are the wounded as he tends to them.”

Liam drags Zayn’s hand in front of him before pressing a soft kiss to his palm. His lips linger for a moment before trailing down the path his fingers had traveled.

“Is that why he complained about having to ‘be stuck with the women?’” Zayn snickers as Liam’s lips move down the inside of his arm. Many soldiers had traveled with women, who have volunteered their services for healing and cooking. Some volunteered for fighting, and Liam had looked so shocked it was amusing.

“Ye are verra much a man,” Liam murmurs distractedly. His lips tickle in the crook of his elbow, the skin there surprisingly sensitive. “I would like to kiss every inch of yer skin, Sassenach, but I dinna have time.”

“Then stop,” Zayn giggles, but he plants himself closer to Liam. Liam gives in easily, his hands sliding around Zayn’s waist as his lips move over the side of his neck. “I do not want you to go, anyway.”

Liam groans low in his throat, forcibly pulling his lips away from Zayn’s skin. “Tis a simple ambush, Sassenach. Ye have my word no one will be harmed. None of us, at least. Please remove yerself from my lap before I get distracted again.”

Zayn snorts, but does as he is asked. It does not keep Liam from him, though - he plants himself to Zayn’s back a moment after standing. Teasing hands trail over Zayn’s body before a knock at the door interrupts them, and Niall enters to summon Liam.

Liam touches Zayn’s lips softly with his own in a goodbye before leaving. Niall does not follow him out, but turns to Zayn instead. 

“What is it, Nialler? I have worrying to get to.”

The corners of Niall’s lips quirk up slightly. “Ye need no to worry about the young lord, Zayn. He is quite the soldier. Ye will be needin’ to worry about him once ye have parted.”

Zayn stills as he reaches for his coat. “I do not understand your meaning.”

“The question is,” Niall starts, as if Zayn had never spoken, “where are ye off too?”

It has been nearly a year since Zayn has last felt off-put by Niall’s presence. The hair at the back of his neck stands up as Niall gingerly walks towards him with his fingers trailing over the railing of Zayn’s bed. There is a flicker of something in his eyes, something that makes Zayn’s stomach twist uncomfortably.

“I am not going anywhere,” Zayn says calmly under Niall’s stare. It is the truth, but Niall clicks his teeth as if he were telling a lie.

“Ye dinna seem too excited to meet any of the Maliks we have met,” Niall goes on as he starts to pace in front of him. “Which makes it difficult to believe ye will be returnin’ to yer family.”

A chill trickles down Zayn’s spine. Niall is not looking at him often, instead watching his own feet. But when his eyes flicker to Zayn, there is the cold look in his eyes that Zayn has not missed.

“Dinna lie. It is an insult to deny the relation. I have eyes, ye ken, and they work well.”

Zayn straightens his back, listening. There is the sound of men outside and he can almost hear Olivier’s laugh, followed by Harry’s. All those two do is laugh; it has been the only bright thing in his life since France.

“I do not see it as your concern who I am in relation with,” Zayn says calmly. Niall has it in his eyes to strike, but he would be foolish to do it with the men so close. Liam’s men. “I have not judged you for your relation to Gregory.”

It has been awhile since he has seen Niall. They part to recruit, and when they meet, he and Liam talk in hushed corners. Harry has been by Zayn’s side since France, and Niall has not visited him much either.

“We are close, very close, to finally achieving our goal of defeating these bastards and taking our throne back. It is interesting timing, Sassenach, that ye wish to part from yer beloved to ‘return to your family’. I am sure ye can understand why I am worried, seeing as yer family fights for the British King.”

Zayn grits his teeth. It makes sense from Niall’s perspective, except Zayn would die before he betrayed Liam in anyway. Niall has to know this by now. “I told you, I am not going anywhere.”

When Niall’s eyes land on him again, they are firm. He cocks his head as he stares at Zayn for ages. Zayn’s back tenses with how still he makes his body.

A rush of relief fills him as the door opens, revealing a grumpy-looking Liam. His face is crumpled, eyes glaring at Niall before they shift to Zayn in confusion.

Liam straightens as his fingers curl around the lapels of his jacket. “Is there something you need, Niall? It is not long now until nightfall, we must get into position.”

Niall’s eyes slide lazily from Zayn to his cousin, any traces of anger slipping away from his face. “I was just telling Zayn here how sad I will be to see you two part,” he explains. Liam’s eyes flicker between Niall and Zayn.

Zayn does not think before he is nodding to confirm Niall’s words. A sick feeling twists in his belly as he watches Liam’s unsure expression before clapping Niall hard on the back to guide him out of the room.

“I will return,  _ mo duinne _ . Be well until then,” Liam says softly before closing the door behind him.

When the small army takes off, Zayn busies himself with setting up an infirmary for them to return too. Speaking with the women and teaching them about different herbs distracts him from the pit of worry in his stomach as the sky darkens around them.

Liam assured him it was an easy ambush, but nothing about war is easy. He has been lying lately, and Zayn isn’t sure what to make about it. There are times where his face wrinkles with worry and stress, but he denies that is he is anything but fine. Zayn has too often woken to him awake in the middle of the night, tracing shapes over his jaw. As much as he loves the tender touches, he is worried about Liam’s disrupted sleep.

“You will no get used to it,” Harry sighs, as he pads into the infirmary and plants himself on the table Zayn works on. “The fear they will no return.”

Zayn’s hands are red and raw from the hot water he soaks ripped cloth in. Memories of the war he had fought in have been plaguing him more than normal. He finds himself dreaming of the chaos, of seeing those men’s faces on the men around them as they follow Liam and Niall’s lead. 

He had distanced himself to make it easier to work on men whose lives depended on him having a sure head. There was a strict no friends rule that he tried to follow, but failed at times. Here, he has failed at following that rule completely.

Harry pulls on his elbow to remove his hands from the water, glaring at him in concern. 

“When I fought in the war, there were times when I could not write to my sisters,” Zayn says quietly, eyeing the women around him to make sure they are not close enough to hear. “In my time it does not take as long for letters to be delivered, but war made it difficult. There were times when Safaa would get sick. When I could, I quit the military to be with her and become her guardian. There were nights she still became sick with nightmares of me.”

Harry hands Zayn a dry cloth for him to dry his hands, which are now sensitive to the touch from the heat. “Now I understand,” Zayn admits softly. 

“They must feel that way now, with you being gone,” Harry says softly. “I ken seeing them will ease the pain of being far from Liam.”

Zayn drops the cloth into the hot water to soak as he glares at Harry. They have not spoken about Zayn’s promise to leave since he made it, and he told Harry firmly that it was going to be a promise he would break.

Using his sisters against him is unfair.

“I have no intention on leaving Liam,” Zayn reminds him.

Harry sighs as he removes himself from the table to follow after Zayn. “I dinna mean to offend, Zayn. I will no lie, I did feel a bit hurt that ye dinna tell me ye were plannin’ on leavin’. I will miss ye greatly.”

“I am not leaving,” Zayn snaps, his words flying out of his mouth harsher than he had intended. But he does not soften when Harry flinches. He just wishes people would stop saying that.

Culloden is a week’s time away. He does not want to think about it. Liam has broken promises to him before, allbeit for good reasons, so he can do the same.

“You must.”

With the smile gone from Harry’s face, Zayn now sees the dark circles under his eyes and the thin on his face. His cheekbones stand out more so than normal and his clothes hang off of his body. 

“Why must I? You would not easily part from Niall, but you expect me to part easily from Liam?”

Zayn had not expected the tears that appear in Harry’s eyes. “I am leaving Niall,” he whispers quietly, “but I canna leave if ye remain here.”

The tears spill before Harry can finish and Zayn takes his wrist, guiding him away from any prying eyes. “I do not understand, Harry.”

Harry huffs out loudly, shaking himself before wiping at the tears that slip over his cheeks. “I had my suspicions, ye ken. While in France, Niall asked quite a lot of questions about ye. Before, he seemed to care more about dirt than anything I had to say about ye, no offense, so his questions confused me.”

Zayn presses his hands to Harry’s shoulders in hope of grounding him. He trembles under the touch, but he swallows and keeps the tears from falling again.

“I found correspondance with a healer, ye ken, one like Louis. I canna say I understood everything, I canna read well, but it spoke of herbs. I kent something was no right. Niall hates magic almost as much as he hates the British.

“And then when we went to find Liam to stop him from duelin’ with the Captain, ye fainted, Zayn.” Harry worries at his bottom lip for a moment. “I apologize I dinna tell ye before, but I ken ye will understand my reason. But, I wanted to take ye to see Louis right away but Niall told me to leave ye there.”

Harry lets out a long shaky breath and Zayn clings onto him, still not fully understanding the point that Harry is trying to make. “It is very kind of you Harry, but you do not have to leave Niall because he is not fond of me.”

The laugh that follows is wet and wounded. “I believe Niall is trying to kill ye, Zayn. That is why I must leave him, and I must make sure ye are no around him.”

Zayn pulls back, staring at Harry’s very serious expression. There is anything to indicate that he is joking and it is not something Harry  _ would _ joke about.

“These are just suspicions,” Zayn tries to assure but he can hear the doubt in his own voice. “Niall would not betray Liam like that.”

The light from the candles are dim, but they flicker enough that Zayn can see how gray Harry’s skin looks. “He has tried. I have had the wee laddie keep an eye on him. He copies all of Niall’s letters and delivers them to me. I apologize but yer wee one is quite the pickpocket.”

Normally, Zayn would swell with pride despite that pickpocketing is not an honorable career choice, but the idea of his little one sneaking around Niall and potentially being caught makes his stomach ache. “And what have you found?”

“Correspondance with Laird Gregory. He is ill and wishes to invite Liam back to the castle to serve as the young heir’s guardian until he is of age,” Harry pauses, his eyes dropping to watch where he fists his hands into his kilt, “and to mourn the loss of his husband.”

*

The ambush had been successful and Liam should feel relieved, but anger sizzles through him. He grips the small shoulder below him tightly, nearly dragging Olivier across the muddy ground.

They are covered in mud and blood and who knows what else. Tears streak down Olivier’s face, creating two paths in the mud that covers his skin.

“I am s-sorry, m’lord. I - I wanted to fight beside you.”

“War is no place for a boy,” Liam grumbles. He hates the regret he feels about having to spank the boy. He remembers his father telling him how he too regretted it every time he had to punish Liam, and Liam had not believed it at the time. Now, he understands. “I ordered you to stay with Zayn.”

Olivier whimpers and Liam finally lets him go. He kneels in front of him, wiping at the tears and mud on his cheeks. “Ye ken well what is more important than this war, aye?”

Sniffling, Olivier shakes his head. Liam places a soft hand to his shoulder. “Protecting Zayn. It is a great duty and you are the only man I trust to do so. Understand?”

Liam starts to tell him that he needs an answer spoken out loud, but the sound of Zayn’s voice interrupts the quiet night air.

“Olivier Payne!” It is a frantic sound followed by the echo of feet quickly slapping across the wet ground.

There are tears in Zayn’s eyes when he scoops Olivier into his arms. “You had me so frightened! Are you hurt?” 

“N-no, m’lord,” Olivier whimpers before he hides his face against Zayn’s chest. Zayn pets his hair and holds him close, in an embrace so tight he could break the boy if his arms were not shaking so violently. 

“War is a place for a boy,” grunts Niall from beside him. Niall grabs at Liam’s neck reassuringly. “If ye remember correctly cousin, we were readied for war at a young age.”

Liam huffs out an unamused laugh. “If I remember correctly cousin, ye said war is no place for Harry and he is verra much a grown man.”

Niall’s face hardens at this, eyes narrowing, and Liam shakes out of the hold he has on his shoulder to return to his family’s side. 

He ushers a still trembling Zayn towards their temporary home, his hand firm on the back of Olivier’s head. 

Zayn cares for them both gently, wiping the grime away from their skin and cleaning their wounds. They are simple scratches, nothing too harmful, but Zayn sighs at each one he finds.

Zayn is quiet, too quiet, and he ignores every attempt that Liam makes to understand what is plaguing his mind. He shoos Liam from the room to care for Olivier, who still whimpers every time Liam looks at him.

There is an array of unopened letters on his desk and he sets to it, hoping it to distract him from Zayn’s behavior. They are not of much importance but he reads each as if they hold the key to immortality.

_ My brother, I understand your concern - _

Liam freezes, fingering the edges of the parchment. It is not for him and he glances at the bottom to see Gregory’s name. He moves to fold it closed, but he sees a familiar name scribbled in the body of the letter and he cannot stop his curiosity as he wonders why the Horan brothers would be writing about his husband. 

_ The young lord is the best choice to look after Theo. I understand he is your son, but you have been reckless. Liam holds a compassion inside of him that will make him a great leader. These are traits that Theo needs to learn, not your brutality. I do not believe that Liam will waver in his duties because of Zayn’s death. It will make him stronger, a part of him vicious enough to handle what being a Laird requires.  _

_ As for the healer, he has been brought into custody. I do hope you will soon explain why I must hold Master Tomlinson in my dungeons. It is ill luck to have a fairy in the Castle. He claims not to ken a Zayn Brannan. I require a response immediately. _

Liam reads over the letter a few times, but his confusion only grows. It is a letter for Niall, but Zayn is very much alive and Zayn had just received a letter from Louis a fortnight ago, stating that he was on his way to Prussia.

He tucks the letter away when Zayn guides in a clean Olivier, whose eyes are heavy under the fists he rubs at them. “Gregory wishes I return to the Castle to mentor young Theo.”

Zayn raises a brow at this but he does not look surprised as he guides the boy to the bed and tucks him beneath the wool blankets. “You should. Bring Olivier with you. Theo is a bit younger but I am sure they will get along.”

The soft sound of Zayn humming fills the room as he rubs a hand over Olivier’s small back. Liam watches for a few moments before speaking.

“And you?”

Zayn’s jaw tightens as he stares back, his eyes glaring. “Well, you have told the whole camp I am leaving soon, apparently. I did not think I would be apart of your future plans.”

“That is a bit of an exaggeration,  _ mo duinne _ ,” Liam sighs. He had only told Niall. Guilt does not fill him, but sadness does. He has given up hope on preventing Culloden, but even if it were possible, Zayn must return home.

He will not say it out loud, but he prefers to die alongside his men while fighting for his country instead of living in a world where Zayn is unreachable. He has no intention of returning to Castle Leoch or mentoring Young Theo. He will not be alive that long.

“Well?”

Liam sighs, dragging a hand over his face in frustration. He does not want to fight. “You are returning to the stones this time next week, Sassenach. Ye gave me yer word.”

The glare on Zayn’s face is deadly, his eyes like knives piercing his skin. It hurts Liam as if Zayn were truly pushing a knife into his chest. 

“And you will fight.”

Liam nods though it is not a question. “I will send the boy to my sister in Lallybroch. He will be safe if something happens. I will be giving the deed to Lallybroch to Young Liam.”

He falters when Zayn turns his back to him and curls around Olivier’s sleeping form. 

“When did you give up trying to keep us together?” Zayn says softly. “You have the whole thing planned out as if it is not upsetting you in the slightest.”

Liam does not respond because he swore he would not tell Zayn the truth. Instead, he stares out of the small window as he listens for the sound of Zayn’s breathing evening out in sleep. It never comes.

*

They have not spoken. The days tick by and they have not said a word to each other other than small talk that Zayn hates. They discussed Olivier’s trip to Lallybroch once and Liam did not even ask why Zayn insisted that Niall not be informed of where he is traveling to and that Harry must accompany him.

The men of Clan Horan arrive a few days before Culloden. They are kind to Zayn, even Ned. Maybe they know of Niall’s plans to kill him, maybe not. They do not seem surprised to see him alive, but they are overly kind as if they think he is to die soon.

“I do not want to go, m’lord,” Olivier says. He does not cry, but the tremble in his bottom lip tells Zayn that he is struggling with not doing so. “I want to stay with you.”

Zayn smiles softly as he cups Olivier’s cheeks. There are tears in his throat, choking him. “Lady Payne is wonderful. She will take good care of you.”

“Until you return?” Olivier says hopefully, eyebrows rising and Zayn’s chest cracks painfully. Liam will fight in Culloden, and Zayn hopes returning to Olivier is enough for Liam to do everything in his power to survive the battle.

“Yes, until I return. Someone needs to watch over Lord Payne, yes?” Zayn says. Liam is going to have to force him to those stones. Zayn has said as much but Liam only stares at him when he does.

“I love you, m’lord,” Olivier whispers, clinging to Zayn’s shoulders.

There is a small band of men that are escoring Olivier and Harry to the stones. Men that Liam insists will keep quiet about their destination. Zayn recognizes one of them, Hugh, the mute man who had helped them find Liam at Wentworth.

Niall had left to train the soldiers. He is nervous for Niall’s return, when he discovers his lover has left.

“I love you more,  _ beta _ ,” Zayn whispers quietly, hugging him back before guiding him to the men. “Always remember that.”

Harry waits there with a sad smile on his face. He pulls Zayn into a hug, trapping Olivier between their bodies.

“I will miss you, brother.”

Zayn smiles. “I am not leaving.”

The look Harry gives him when he pulls back is unsure, but he nods. “Well, I will miss ye regardless. Ye have no yet told Liam about -” he looks around for a moment before mouthing Niall’s name.

Zayn shakes his head. “If Liam knew his intentions, I believe Liam would kill him,” Zayn admits quietly. “I do not want you to have to witness that.”

There are tears in his eyes again but Harry nods, a hard jerk of his head. He sniffles, wiping at his eyes before bending his head. “M’lord.”

For a moment, Zayn thinks Harry is speaking to him but a large hand at his back tells him that Liam has joined their farewell party. 

“It is Liam,” Liam corrects softly. “Ye are no a servant, Harry. Ye are my friend and I believe ye will take great care of Olivier, yes?”

Harry nods, brushing his hand through Olivier’s hair as Olivier clings to them with one arm around Liam and the other around Zayn.

“Give this to my sister, would ye? It is for Young Liam. Now off with ye before I change my mind,” Liam says roughly, but the gruff of his voice does not match the sadness in his eyes as he lifts Olivier onto his horse.

“Be good for Lady Payne,” Liam instructs as he tucks a finger under Olivier’s chin, “She is no afraid of whupping ye.”

Liam’s hand is warm against the back of Zayn’s neck as the watch the small cavalry take off. He does not mind the quiet between them for once, but he interrupts it the moment the horses are out of their sight.

“I am not going to the stones,” Zayn says, without looking at Liam. “My time is no safer than this time. The dangers are just different.”

“You are going,” Liam says firmly, releasing his neck. “We will no argue about this.”

Zayn huffs out a rough laugh. “We are going to argue about this.”

The look on Liam’s face is not angry or frustrated, but sad. It makes Zayn want to smack him because why does he look so sad if he is the one forcing him to leave?

“I would verra much like to spend the last few days with my body tangled with yers, Sassenach. I dinna want to spend our days fighting.”

“Too bad,” Zayn says as he crosses his arms over his chest. “You cannot expect me to just be quiet about this, Liam, really! You will give me the reason that you are dead set on me leaving right this moment. If it is my safety, I could have very well have gone to Lallybroch instead.”

He wouldn’t have, he won’t leave Liam’s side, but it could have been an option if that is what Liam was concerned about.

Liam looks tired, eyes drooping and the bags under his eyes challenging Harry’s. “You must.”

“Why?”

He is struggling to speak. Conflict takes over his expression as he grabs Zayn’s head with gentle fingers and holds him. “Safaa is no yet an adult, aye? What will her fate be if the man that is supposed to be caring for her has disappeared? It has been a year and a half, Sassenach. Ye told me ye became her - her-”

“Guardian,” Zayn whispers through his teeth.

“Guardian,” Liam repeats. “Because she would be taken from ye if ye did not.”

Zayn shoves Liam away from him roughly. There is an anger inside of him that makes him, for the first time in a long time, want to be far away from his husband. That anger mixes with guilt, because he is right. 

“I understand you want me to leave, Liam, but do not make it so I  _ want _ to be away from you.”

Liam does not soften like Zayn had hoped. “Tis the truth, Sassenach. I dinna ken the rules of your time nor have I understood when ye have told me about making Safaa a child of yer own. But it does no sound like it is best for you to be away from her.”

Months of tears have welled up inside of him and they rush out of his eyes now. He can barely see Liam through them. “Why are you saying this now? You have been more than happy to keep me here with you, so why now? Is it because of Niall? He has tried to kill me before, Liam, and has failed.”

He does not know this to be true, but Harry had told him of his suspicions about the night he had been poisoned. It makes sense, maybe.

“I will cut Niall’s hands from his body if he even tries,” Liam says angrily. His face has started to redden, the color trailing down his neck and to the part of his chest that is revealed by the low collar of his shirt. “I told ye Sassenach, I dinna understand the rules of yer time but I ken well that Safaa needs ye. Ye must return to her.”

God, Zayn wishes Liam would stop saying that. He knows he is a shit brother for staying away from his sisters. He is selfish, but why is Liam so mad at him for it? He thought Liam enjoyed that they were together.

“If not she - argh, she will be taken to a faster care.”

Zayn wipes at his tears to take a better look at Liam. He trembles in anger and there are tears in his own eyes. “Faster care? Oh -”

A horrid realization fills him before he can ask Liam how he would even know something like that. He could have mentioned it being worried about that before, but he cannot remember. Foster care is a possibility, but an unlikely one because when he had left, Safaa and Waliyha were living with his auntie. No one would try to take her away from their family.

“Have you been meditating with opium again, Liam Payne?” Zayn chokes out in anger. “How do you know what foster care is and how dare you say something like that to me!”

Later, he will apologize, but the idea of Liam touching him at the moment makes him furious. He shoves Liam hard when he tries to, his hands curling into fists. He feels a bit like a child throwing a tantrum, but he is beginning to feel desperate for Liam to tell him to stay. 

Liam does not try to touch him again, but stays still a few feet away from him. Zayn huffs out, glaring at him before stalking off without knowing where he is headed. Anywhere where he can be alone.

*

Anger, frustration, guilt, sadness. It coils through his body, maddening him. There is a tension in his arms and back that he cannot shake off. He wants to scream, to punch things, he wants to hold Zayn in his arms and cry into his chest.

He has not seen Zayn since they argued this morning. He does not understand why Zayn is so resistant to go home to his sisters when they need him. It is the only reason Liam wants him to go. He wants to be selfish and keep him here. He does not want Zayn to think that Liam actually thinks the idea of them being apart is a good one.

Without knocking, Liam forces open the wooden door to where he has watched Niall disappear behind. Niall startles, anger starting to creep onto his expression. It worsens when Liam shoves him back, shoving his forearm underneath Niall’s chin.

“Ye best get yer hands offa me,” Niall grunts, moving to push Liam off but Liam pushes back against him harder. “I dinna ken ye have a right to be angry, cousin. Has the love of yer life ran off as well? Did ye hear from the other men that yer own cousin helped him do it?”

Liam grips Niall’s jaw and shoves, making his lips close and his head tilt back. “I have discovered my cousin has it out to kill my lover,” Liam says through his teeth as he digs his fingers in. “Ye have one minute to explain and then I want ye out of my camp.”

Liam shoves Niall roughly against the wall before ripping the letter from his pocket and pushing it into Niall’s chest. Niall cusses loudly before unfolding the parchment so roughly he nearly rips it. 

“I dinna wish to kill yer husband. But ye have said ye dinna think that he will return and ye canna tell my brother he went through the stones.”

Liam stills, staring at Niall. He does not say anything, not wanting to confirm anything if Niall only has his suspicions. Surely Zayn would not have told Niall about the stones. Unless, Harry -

“In France I came across the legend of the Maliks and their relation to the stones. The same stones where we first met that husband of yers. I dinna ken it to be true, I have tried and failed at finding the truth. Truth potions, spying, even hired a pick pocket of my own. But now, yer face confirms my suspicions.”

Liam still does not respond. He grits his teeth so hard it hurts. 

Niall sighs, tossing the parchment to the side. “If my brother thinks that Zayn is dead, it will be better than him thinkin’ he has left us and joined the British side. How were ye plannin’ on explainin’ his sudden disappearance?”

There is a hint of guilt flickering in his chest, but it is masked by the doubt he has that Niall is telling the truth. Zayn did not tell him why Harry had been so desperate to get away from Niall, but it must have been something truly bad for Harry to leave.

Him and Niall have been together for years, since they were bairns.

“I dinna plan on returning to Castle Leoch at all,” Liam admits quietly. 

Niall huffs out a laugh, brows raising in amusement. “My dear brother thinks ye will lead Castle Leoch well though it is no your birthright to do so and here ye are, already planning to fail him. Ye canna return to Lallybroch, cousin.”

_ I dinna plan on going anywhere, _ Liam thinks. “Why do ye care what yer brother thinks about my husband? He will be gone, safe from yer brother. I dinna care if he thinks Zayn to be a traitor.”

Niall laughs again, but this time it is annoyed. “Ye fool, he will no let ye mentor my son if he thinks ye are in love with a traitor. Ye think with yer heart, Liam, not yer head. Gregory will no trust ye to be loyal to Castle Leoch if Zayn is to come callin’.”

Liam stares at Niall for a long moment, considering. It is a valid point, but he still does not believe that Niall is being honest with him. “Ye will leave camp tonight. Ye can return in three night’s time.”

Niall parts his lips to argue, but Liam turns around, ignoring him. “If even a hair on Zayn’s head is harmed during that time, by any men here, I will kill ye myself, cousin. I give ye my word.”

*

It is late when Liam returns. Zayn had been staring up at the ceiling when the door opened and Liam’s heavy boots sounded across the floor. He tries to be quiet, sitting gently on the makeshift bed so it does not rustle too much, placing his boots on the ground slowly.

Zayn turns to his side, watching the reveal of Liam’s bare skin as he pulls off his shirt. Like always, pain wraps around his heart as he eyes the marred back. There is not a fingertip sized bit of skin that has not been turned into a glossy, raised scar. 

He reaches out, touching over Liam’s spine. Liam stills, but he stays quiet as Zayn shifts onto his knees. 

Zayn kneels behind Liam as he traces the scars with gentle fingers. There are so many it takes a while, and Liam stays quiet and still for most of it, only the sound of their breathing filling the  room.

“This is how my heart will look being away from you,” Liam whispers quietly. “Please dinna think I want to be away from ye, Sassenach. My heart is already bruised just thinkin’ about ye leaving me.”

Softly, Zayn kisses down the back of Liam’s neck. “I am angry because you are right. I have been selfish, staying away from my sisters,” he admits, as he kisses across Liam’s shoulders, “but my heart will break being away from you and I will not be able to be a good brother for them. I am - am not faring well with the idea of leaving you.”

Liam’s head tilts to the side as Zayn drags his teeth over his shoulder. He bites gently, sucking a mark of his own that he hopes will last a long time. 

“I will go,” Zayn says against Liam’s ear as he curls his body around his back. He wills away the tears as much as he can, but they burn down his cheeks. “If you promise that you will live.”

Liam takes Zayn’s hands into his own, slotting their fingers together. He bends forward, kissing his palm. 

“I dinna want to live a moment without ye, Sassenach.”

“Promise me,” Zayn insists, squeezing their fingers. “Or I will not go.”

When Liam rests back against Zayn’s chest, he holds their clasped hands against his own. “Ye have my word, Sassenach.”

** May 2015 - Scotland **

Zayn rests against the door of the bathroom, listening to the muffled sounds of Maira getting sick. She has been sick for a few days, and Waliyha has threatened to destroy everything he loves if he does not get her on a plane and back to England soon.

“I am fine,” Maira insists, her voice wet. “Please, tell Ammi I am fine.”

With a forehead resting against the door, Zayn sighs. “You do not sound fine.”

The door is wrenched open, making Zayn stumble forward. There are tears in Maira’s eyes and her face is red. Red with anger, by the looks of it.

“Please. I am fine. I don’t want to interrupt your work.”

Zayn smiles softly as he cups a hand under Maira’s jaw and presses his lips to her forehead. She isn’t hot to the touch and she has only thrown up once today, and once yesterday.

He stills for a moment. She threw up yesterday morning. God, this is awkward. Does he bring her to get a pregnancy test? Do they talk about it? 

Maybe he is being ridiculous. Surely Maira would say something to him if this were the case. Maira has always confided in him when she couldn’t with her mother. He is overreacting, being protective because she admitted to him yesterday that she lost her virginity to that damn dick she calls her boyfriend. 

“You are not a bother, my love. Now come on, do you want me to continue?”

Maira nods, wiping at her tears as she follows Zayn towards the office that he is currently using while in Scotland. The last time he had been in Scotland, twenty years prior, the house had belonged to Julian Blackhorn. Now his son manages it, Marc Blackhorn. 

Both men whose blood is of Clan Horan.

Marc had found boxes with Zayn’s name scribbled onto them while going through his late father’s things. He had been embarrassed admitting that he had gone through all the documents that Julian had put aside for him and that he called Zayn because he wanted to understand why his father was searching.

And to tell Zayn that he suspected that he had found exactly what Zayn had been wanting to find. But Marc had been of little help since. 

“Marc does not believe there to be a connection,” Zayn sighs as he rubs a finger over the old newspaper. “But Pablo Neruda was born sometime in the early twentieth century, over a hundred years after this pulication.”

There is a small smile on Maira’s lips but it isn’t judgemental. Zayn is pretty sure she is the only person other than Marc who actually believes him.

Waliyha and Safaa both gave up trying to convince him that he was delusional. Time travel is impossible, the man who kidnapped him was a criminal, not a eighteenth century Scottish Highlander with a heart bigger than the Earth.

“‘‘I love your feet, only because they walked upon the earth and upon the wind and upon the waters, until they found me,’” Zayn reads, pointing his finger hard to the printed words. “I recited this very line to your Uncle Liam one day when we were - well what we were doing is not of importance.”

There is an excitement in his voice as he flips to the front cover to show Maira. “It is written by a one Pablo James. Liam Malcolm James Payne.”

Maira still grins, but there is confusion in her eyes. “I don’t understand.”

Zayn sighs softly, eyeing the date printed. He cannot afford to get his hopes up, he can’t afford to feel the pain of disappointment. 

“October, 1761,” he reads quietly. “A Paper Company named ‘Brannan & Malik’ burned down only a few years afterwards.”

It can’t be a coincidence. Zayn needs it to be true. He needs to know if Liam survived Culloden now that a candle of hope has been lit inside of him. 

** 1745 - Current **

The stones seem taller than he remembers. They seem to stretch high into the sky and stare threateningly down at him. He steps away when he hears the sound of bees, his stomach retching painfully.

He is going to be sick.

“Sassenach,” Liam breathes. He does not try to hide the tears that stream down his cheeks or the way his fingers shake when he cups Zayn’s cheek.

There is a soft sob leaving his lips when they part against Liam’s. Liam kisses him softly, each drag against his lips maddeningly slow. His tongue is soft and patient, prodding into his mouth as if he wants to remember every taste bud on his tongue and every indent of his teeth. 

Zayn traces his fingers over the rough hair on Liam’s jaw and over the shape of his ears. He touches down his neck, pausing over his pulse to remember the way Liam’s heart feels before slipping further down.

The air is cold and it is not yet dark, but Liam lays him amongst the stones and takes him apart. He touches every inch of Zayn’s skin with his hands and mouth, he marks his hips and his thighs and cries softly against his throat.

“Even parted over time and land we will remain together,” Liam whispers against his ear as he pins Zayn’s hands above his head and rocks into him slowly, dragging every movement out as if he does not want it to end. “My heart is with you wherever you go.”

Liam kisses away the tears that streak his cheeks as he pulls on his clothes. The moment Zayn tries to stand, Liam is fisting his hands into his shirt. 

“I will no cry,” Liam says with a soft smile as he stands with Zayn. “I would verra much like if you remembered my smile instead.”

Zayn huffs out a sob. It feels impossible, his body will not move. He chants it quietly in his head, Safaa, Safaa, Waliyha, Waliyha. Maybe one day he can return to Liam. He knows Liam will wait for him, even if it is a selfish thing to expect.

“Promise me,” Zayn whispers as Liam guides him backwards. 

“I promise to try to live,” Liam breathes before turning Zayn slowly.

The rocks fill up his vision, the buzzing noise loud in his ears. He cannot get his body to move but Liam tickles his fingers down his arms to grab his hands, lifting them for him.

“Promise me you  _ will  _ live,” Zayn cries softly. “So I can return to you when Safaa is of age. Give me your word.”

“I give ye my word,” Liam says softly, pressing a wet kiss to Zayn’s jaw before he presses Zayn’s open palms to the stones.

The last thing he feels before the pain is the hard press of Liam’s body and the soft touch of his fingers trailing against the back of his hands before he lets go.

*

Liam had blinked. Not even a second, and there is a space between him and the stone where Zayn had been.

“Oh,” Liam sobs quietly, pressing his palms to the warm stones. He wants to go through them and follow after him, but he does not move. He begs quietly as he leans his forehead against the stone first, and then his whole body. He does not move and when darkness falls, he realizes there has been a hope inside of him that Zayn will reappear. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zipplekink Guaranteed Happy Ending is still in the works, promise. :D Please tell me what you think! I see a lot of back and forth of what fanfic writers do/don't like to hear on tumblr, but I just like to know your thoughts. Bits you liked, things you didn't (ie: Niall is super OOC sorry lmao), things you expect/think might happen. Whatever, I'm all ears ;D
> 
> Thank you! <3
> 
>  
> 
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> 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive me for the angst. It wasn't easy to write. Maybe I'll write something super soft and fluffy as an apology haha. 
> 
> There is one more chapter after this, and it's not really an epilogue, more of a last chapter, but because of the time jump, I thought it would be better to title it an epilogue. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all of the feedback!! I am glad everyone is enjoying this story even though you probably want to kill me for all the angst haha.

**1997 - The Stones of Craigh na Dun**

The air is hot and wet. It takes him a moment to realize it is raining - pouring, really. The raindrops hit his back like pellets, dripping into his eyes and sliding into his mouth. He touches the stones, but nothing. No buzzing, no rip in his stomach. Just nothing.

Zayn turns, eyeing the empty space around him before falling to his knees. He digs his fingers into the too short of grass and screams. He screams until his throat burns, until his whole body aches with the force it takes.

He screams and screams but it does not ease the pain ricocheting through him.

“Sir! Sir! Are you okay? Sir!”

There are hands in his face but Zayn cannot see anything through the rain and his own tears. He can barely lift his head and the man does it for him, guiding him up with a gentle hand.

“Are ye mad, lad? Ye will be sick in the rain like this. Come on with ye. Up, up.”

Zayn’s legs shake as he stands, most of his weight supported by the stranger. He talks, but Zayn cannot hear anything over the sound of his heart shattering in his ears.

“What year is it?” Zayn mumbles suddenly as he spots the parked car, hazards flashing on the side of the road. He used to be afraid of cars before getting his license, and that same fear pools in his gut now.

“Year?” The man asks, concern in his voice. “Ninety-seven. Come on, sit in the car while we wait. Of course of all times, my tire done busted out on me. But lucky for ye, innit? Wouldna heard ye screamin’ yer head off like that if I wasn’t here.”

The man looks amused through the rain sliding down his chubby face. But that amusement falters when Zayn does not laugh in return.

“Who - who won the Battle of Culloden, 1745? The British or the Highlanders?”

The man’s eyes grow wide and he frowns, looking at Zayn as if he is strange. “What kind of - the British, of course. The Highlanders stood no chance, they got themselves wiped out! Are ye sure ye are alright, laddie?”

Zayn bends beside the car and empties the contents of his stomach onto the road.

*

The ceiling above him is white. There are monitors beeping in his ears and the chill that had been on his skin is long gone. There are heaps of blankets covering him and he plays with the edges distractedly.

The doctor had asked his name, and now, a half hour later, there is a police officer sitting beside him.

“Ye were reported missing over a year ago,” the officer says gently, voice quiet under the sound of monitors beeping around him, “can ye tell me where ye’ve been?”

Zayn doesn’t respond.

“Do you remember anything, Mr. Malik?”

Zayn flinches, unable to stop himself. Payne, Zayn Payne.

Drowning is what it feels like. Drowning in the middle of the winter, icy cold water making him freeze and fall numb. He shivers, staring up at the ceiling as if it is the block of ice keeping him under the surface.

The police officer scribbles a few things down before standing, looking annoyed from Zayn’s lack of responses. “I will leave my information here if ye would give me a ring when ye remember something.”

Zayn keeps his eyes trained to the ceiling. It is too much for him. There are so many smells, and none of them are Liam. The rain had washed the scent of him away from his skin.

He touches the side of his neck gently, fingertips brushing over a sore bruise. Tears sting his eyes and he keeps his hand there as he lets himself fall asleep. Liam is there in his dreams at least.

When Zayn wakes up again it is to hands on him and the sound of soft sobs filling his ears. He blinks wearily at the figure in front of him before reaching out to take Safaa’s hand into his own.

She looks so different, older than he remembered and more like their mother than she had before. He swallows his tears, holding her hand as tightly as possible.

“Oh, _Bhaiya_ ,” Safaa cries, folding her body over his. She shakes with sobs and Zayn runs a hand over her hair, petting her gently. The sound of her crying makes tears clog in his throat, making it difficult to breathe. Not like he is drowning, but as if someone has their hands tight around his throat. “We thought - we thought -”

Zayn is thankful she doesn’t finish her sentence as he looks behind here where his Auntie stands with Waliyha beside her. They too are crying, but quietly. Waliyha wipes at her cheeks before resting her hand on her belly.

It swells out like a watermelon. Zayn has missed so much.

He wiggles his fingers for her to come closer and she does, climbing onto the hospital bed beside him. With Safaa on other side, he feels more at peace, but he cannot swallow down the shards of his heart that are trying to force themselves up his throat.

“You are so thin,” Waliyha comments in concern, swiping a hand over his forehead. “You don’t have to tell us now, but when you’re ready.”

Zayn nods. The smile on his face isn’t forced, but he knows it isn’t as bright as it could be as he curls a hand over the round of Waliyha’s belly. She lets out a wet laugh, tears streaming down her cheeks.

He never thought about what he would tell his sisters about where he has been. The only thing he has is the truth.

*

They are talking in hushed voices, but Zayn has heard them mention his name more than a few times. They think he is out of his mind and he understands why. He had thought at least Professor Blackhorn would understand. Professor Blackhorn had been the one to first tell him about the stones and their relation to the Brannan name.

Zayn thinks maybe he does believe him, but there had been some hesitancy in the Professor’s eyes when he briefly told him what had happened.

“There is truth in every legend,” the Professor explains quietly, voice shaking with age. “There is a Zayn Brannan from 1744. He resided at Castle Leoch, worked as their healer. I looked into it after meeting with your brother and I didn’t think anything of it at the time, I will admit.”

Someone - his auntie he thinks - scoffs loudly. “Please Professor, do not tell me you believe this? He’s been harmed greatly, clearly. It has messed with his head.”

“I read once that people come up with these stories in their head that they go to when they need to get away from something bad they are experiencing, I think,” Waliyha says, unsurely. “Maybe this um - Liam is part of it.”

Zayn ducks his head, watching the tears drop onto the back of his head. He did not imagine Liam. Just the idea of that makes him feel like his bones are breaking. He wishes he had lied like he had to the police, but it is sisters. They need to know the truth as to why he was gone from them for so long.

He stands then, sipping the last contents of his cold tea and sliding the blanket Safaa had put over his shoulders onto the chair. He does not say anything as he walks off, but he hears the soft patter of Safaa’s feet following him.

“ _Bhaiya,_ where are you going?” Safaa asks softly but her voice is panicked as Zayn reaches for Waliyha’s car door.

Just a year and she already looks so much older. Her hair is streaked with blond and there’s new piercings in her ears. She even holds herself differently.

“I will return, Saf,” Zayn promises, reaching out to tickle under her chin. Her eyes start to water. She does not believe him. “I promise. I will only be gone a few hours. I feel, like I cannot breathe and I just…want to breathe.”

It is too much for her to be burdened with but he hopes she forgives him for putting it on her anyway. She clings to his arm, reluctant to let go.

“Please, please come back.”

Zayn smiles and it is genuine. He had missed his sisters greatly and seeing them had reminded him of just how much. But it also made him feel overwhelmed with guilt because it was his own fault that he missed him.

They spent over a year looking for him and thinking he was dead. He wanders what it was that finally made them give up looking for him.

“I will be so angry with you if you don’t return. I told Waliyha you would. I called your innkeeper every day. I last talked to her the day before.”

Zayn kisses her forehead, warming. She never had given up. “I promise, Safaa. I will cook for you tonight so I am going to the um - grocery store.”

Safaa’s lips pout out again as she looks up at him with wide eyes. Surely she should be done growing by now, and Zayn hopes so as she is nearly as tall as him.

He remembers when she was small enough to fit into the crook of his arms. Time, it flew by so fast.

“I think I believe you,” Safaa whispers. “I mean, I don’t get it but I see in your eyes that you really loved this um, Liam guy. Whoever he is.”

In a flash, the happiness he feels inside remembering moments with his sisters disappears. The pain blanket wrapped around his heart pulls tighter, making his throat feel tight and it takes every ounce of strength not to gasp loudly to force the pain out.

“I really do, Saf. Now go on inside, it’s cold.”

Her face crumples, nose wrinkling and an eyebrow lifting high towards her hairline. “Are you sure you’re okay? It’s warm today.”

Zayn nods, lifting his lips before yanking the door open. He cannot feel the heat of the sun blazing above them, it’s no match for the ice in his limbs.

*

It may be torturing himself, but he needs to know. He needs to know if Liam kept his promise.

The stretch of the field is more unsettling than it had been the first time Zayn had visited. Now Zayn knows the name and the faces of the ghosts that linger around their tombstones. He lived beside the men, helped train the men and healed their wounds.

His feet drag over the grass until he falls to his knees. They are sore but the sting of pain is dull compared to the pain the rest of his body feels.

He traces the name, sobbing quietly. “You promised,” he cries before pressing his cheek over the engraved _Payne_.

They did not change anything. Zayn had only mentioned it briefly to Liam, but he meant it when he said he would return to him once Safaa was old enough. Liam was supposed to live so he could.

The last handful of months with Liam were a waste of time and energy. They fought over it in their last few weeks when they could have spent time memorizing every inch of each other. Nothing had been changed except parts of himself.

When a dull numbness takes over, Zayn hops into the car but he does not return to his sisters. He keeps driving. He will return, but he needs to get every tear out of him before he can return. He does not want to be a zombie in front of them any longer.

He has always been the strong one, and he still wants to be. He just needs some time.

It is unnerving seeing the stretch of granite top and the houses that had not been there just a few months prior. And the ones that were are abandoned and falling apart. There are less trees and it is so loud. The sounds of the cars and airplanes overhead is setting him on edge.

The car rattles underneath him as he idles. He stares at the brick archway, still put together after hundreds of years.

He longed to return here but with Liam. There was something about Liam here that was different about Liam anywhere else.

Slowly, Zayn removes himself from the car to jog under the brick archway. He breathes deeply, eyeing the abandoned house. The windows are shattered and part of the roof is gone. Moss grows over the side and the grass tickles at his knees.

The door opens with ease and he coughs at the dust and dirt that fills his his nose and mouth. Weeds and grass grow inside the entranceway, cobwebs clinging to the walls and ceiling. The ground is covered in shattered pieces of glass and other things he cannot distinguish. The furniture is gone, as is the photographs that had covered the walls.

Zayn’s feet move on their own accord, trucking him through the debri until he finds the master bedroom. The bed stands in the middle, but the frame is broken and the canopy hangs torn over it. The walls are bare, no longer covered in paintings. For a moment, he feels a flicker of a smile wanting to come through as he remembers the way bright way Liam had looked as he spoke of his mother.

He wanders to the yard surrounding the house when the dust makes it hurt to breathe. Liam flashes in his mind again, the way he looked when he kneeled in front of his father’s grave.

It is still there, but chipped greatly at the top. There are more stones than there had before and Zayn’s intention of calming himself goes ignored as he screams again.

He rips at the tall grass covering the stones, letting out half screams and sobs. The grass is rough against his palms and his arms hurt but he pulls the grass out and throws it until every new tomb is revealed.

He spots Nicola and Eoghan’s name above a list of others. More children than he remembers. Some relief fills him at the idea of them living long and happy. He wonders how many generations there were after Nicola’s children lived here. It seems to have been abandoned for a long time.

Maybe they left once the Lord of Lallybroch no longer returned.

Zayn falls to his bum this time, pressing his raw palms against the cold stone. He wanted to escape to breathe and he manages an inhale, though the exhale shakes when he reads the name printed under Liam’s.

Zayn Payne.

He traces the name, smiling sadly. The tears flood over his cheeks in fast currents from the tightness in his chest.  Did Nicola think he died in the battle of Culloden as well?

Any effort to breathe fails him when his eyes lower, taking in the Olivier Payne.

He clings to the tombstone, hoping Olivier’s name was engraved long after his and Liam’s.

**1745 - Culloden, Scotland**

Liam stares at the smoke above him, hiding the sky. He desperately wants to see the sky and the color of the sun falling below the horizon. If it is even time for the sun to disappear into the ground. The smoke makes it difficult to know if it is day or night, and he feels as if he has been lying here for decades.

The pain is gone and he feels numb. There is something heavy on him - a body, but he is to weak to shove it off though it makes it hard to breathe.

After his mother had died, his father had wiped away his tears and assured him her last moments were good ones.

 _We think about what makes us happiest in our last moments, laddie._ Mamaí _saw that chubby face of yers and it brought her peace._

It does not bring him peace picturing the faces of his family, of Zayn. It only reminds him that he broke his promise, that he did not keep his word.

But he thinks of him anyway, the way his nose wrinkles when he smiles and his tongue presses to the back of his teeth when he laughs. He thinks about the slender shape of his fingers and the way it felt to be touched by him.

Their first time making love and the first time Zayn told him that he loved him. He thinks about Zayn’s tears and how soft he always looked in the morning. Warmth fills his chest at the memory of Zayn rubbing Olivier’s back, singing softly to him.

Liam coughs wetly, blinking until tears no longer burn his eyes. _I am sorry_ , he tries to say, wanting the horizon to take hold of his words and bring them to his husband but his voice is too hoarse.

There have been many times Liam has been faced with the threat of dying, and each time it feels as real as it does now. He has always made it a point to let those he loved know how much he loved them, and as he closes his eyes, he prays that Zayn felt just how strong his love is for him.

His eyes flicker open when he hears the crunching of boots. He wants his last moments to be like this, he does not want to be interrupted by British soldiers finishing off any Highlander still breathing.

There is a grunt above him and the heavy pressure on top of him is gone. Liam keeps still, staring up until his eyes burn from the force behind not blinking as he listens to the movements beside him.

The soldier speaks quietly, a mantra that sounds like a prayer. It is spoken in another language, one unfamiliar to Liam.

“Rest easy, my brother.”

The voice is British and Liam clings to the image of Zayn in his mind. He only wants to see Zayn’s face from now until the soldier realizes he is still breathing.

He clings onto the image so tightly, he imagines Zayn in front of him. He is not smiling and Liam wishes he were. He hates the fire in his eyes and the tears on his cheeks. He hates the way he frowns and his thick eyebrows push together. He hates that he wears the red uniform of the British.

“Liam!” Zayn hisses his name. Liam hates it. _Please forgive me for dying_.

Something smacks against his cheek and Liam blinks. It is not Zayn in his vision, but his face is so similar that Liam wants to cry.

He laughs instead. It is not funny that it is the Captain that is about to take his last few moments away from him, but he cannot help the laughter. He had watched his sword go into the torso of the Captain, but of course he would stay alive long enough to kill Liam.

“Come on, Liam, up. Before the other soldiers come.”

Hands grab under his armpits and Liam uses any strength inside of him to shove the Captain away. There is little, and the Captain barely budges.

“I am trying to help,” he grunts, pulling at Liam until he is standing on his feet. “Why are you so heavy?”

Pain rocks through Liam’s body, washing away the numbness that he had been trying to hold onto. The Captain’s hand is sturdy on his shoulder, his other pushing up Liam’s chin. He has never felt so weak before and he hates it. Even after his last encounter with the Captain, his anger had made him feel stronger.

Now he does not feel anger, but sadness, and it does not bring him strength. Returning to Zayn had brought him strength, but Zayn is gone - unreachable.

“My name is Bashar,” the man says firmly. “We have not properly met but I helped with your escape from Wentworth and I am helping now. I am no danger to you and I need you to follow me. It will not take long for the other soldiers to realize that I am not my brother and my brother -”

Bashar’s voice shakes slightly and his eyes drop. Liam follows the movement, clinging to Bashar.

Below them, the man that Bashar had yanked from on top of Liam lays on his back. His mouth is open and shirt removed, revealing the tear Liam had made in his torso as the man’s sword tucked itself into his own stomach.

“Would ye -” Liam coughs roughly, a spark of happiness firing inside of him. It is dull, but there. “Still offer me yer help if ye ken that I was the one to end the life of the one ye shared a womb with?”

Bashar does not respond, but curls an arm under Liam’s armpit and tugs on him. It is gentle, despite the hard look on the man’s face that makes Liam wonder if he might throttle him. “Come on. Night will fall soon and it will be easier to get you out of here under a blanket of darkness.”

Every step drains him. Bashar urges him along, only allowing them to rest for a second before urging him to move again. They hide from groups of soldiers as Bashar explains that he wears the uniform if forced to interact with them. He has an entire story planned to explain Liam accompanying him, but when he tells Liam he cannot focus on the words.

Liam does not know how long they walk for. He falls in and out of it until Bashar is finally guiding him to the ground.

It is a room of sorts. There are no windows but when Bashar lights a candle, the warm glow reveals a bed made of blankets and a pile of clothes. There is a basket of food, boots and other random items strewed across the small space.

“I am not quite a healer,” Bashar admits with a small smile on his lips as he rips at Liam’s dirt coated shirt that sticks to his sweaty skin, “but I have learned enough from my mother that you should be safe in my hands. She holds the power of magic though. It helps. Unfortunately, that is not something one can learn as easily.”

Liam winces when Bashar touches the side of the torso. “Did my brother do this to you?” Bashar asks as he presses a cloth against the wound. Liam wonders if it is disinfected - a word Zayn had taught him. It is important in his time, apparently.

He had once thrown a fit when Liam had used a cloth not to his liking. He smiles faintly at the memory.

“I dinna ken,” Liam sighs as he tells the lie without thought. There is a glint of guilt or remorse in Bashar’s eyes when he asks the question and Liam wants to save him the pain of knowing that his brother had been evil until his last breath. “The battle is verra much a blur.”

It hurts as Bashar works on his wound, but Liam has suffered and healed from worse. Just another scar on his body, another indent in his heart.

The small room is quiet save for Liam’s labored breaths and hisses of pain. He prefers the quiet and when Bashar interrupts it, he wishes he had enough energy to smack him.

“I have to ask, but where is Zayn?”

That is a pain Liam cannot handle, and he does not answer. After a moment of Bashar looking at him, he nods in understanding that a response is not going to come.

“Rest, for now, Liam. When you wake we will move again.”

“Where are we going?” Liam asks, his head already hazy from exhaustion and a desperate need to find Zayn in his dreams.

“To Master Tomlinson.”

*

The pain is worse when Liam wakes. It takes much of his effort to eat the food that Bashar offers to him and even more effort to keep up with Bashar as they leave the room. Once outside, Liam realizes that Bashar had him in a hole in the ground.

It is dark and quiet when they emerge. “The soldiers will not stop searching for any survivoring Highlander men. They will not care if they fought in the battle or not,” Bashar explains quietly. Liam had assumed as much. Niall had suggested the same tactic if they were to win the battle.

Liam sucks in a breath quietly, remembering the tension between him and Niall before the battle. Despite it, Liam had grabbed his neck assuringly before they stormed onto the field. Not an assurance of forgiveness, but that they were still family and they would work it out eventually.

 “If we are stopped, do you remember the name I have given to you?”

Liam stares down at the outfit Bashar has dressed him in. It is nothing like the Highlander wear, but similar to that of a royal. His torso is wrapped but the shirt he wears is black in case he bleeds through.

“No.”

“Mac Dubh,” Bashar reminds him. Now, Liam can see the small differences between him and his brother. The biggest difference is that his eyes are warmer, more like Zayn’s. There is no ice in his tone despite Liam being difficult and cursing at him, only patience.

It is the world playing a joke on him, he thinks. Taking Zayn from him and giving him someone who looks nearly identical.

“Mac Dubh?”

Bashar presses a hand against Liam’s back to help guide him through the woods, their boots crunching over the leaves. “Ten years ago, my mother prophesied that there would be a man to come to the Castle and heal an ill prince. His name would be Mac Dubh for he had a touch of black magic inside of him.”

“I do no have that,” Liam grits out as he clings to Bashar. Moving is difficult and Bashar struggles to hold up his weight.

“I know,” Bashar laughs tightly. “My mother knows this as well. But no one else does. You do remember your husband is rumored to be the one to possess magic, yes?”

“Aye,” Liam groans. He has seen it with his own eyes. Since watching Zayn disappear through the stones, he believes magic to be more real than he had once thought it to be.

“My mother says you will not be able to heal the prince, but the name will get you past the soldiers with me by your side. I was ordered by the King to find Mac Dubh once his son became sick. My mother wanted me to find you and Zayn. It has been planned for a long time.”

“It is all verra confusing,” Liam groans again. “Finding out so much magic exists in the world.”

Bashar laughs quietly. “It is not magic. My mother knew you would need help and she knew one of the King’s many sons would die of cholera. It had been in her history books. She just did not know which. She pays her debts.”

“She owes me nothing,” Liam says in frustration. He hates feeling as weak as he does. He hates that every step takes the breath out of him. He hates that his mind feels just as weak and tired as he tries to wrap his thoughts around Maira and time travel.

“Before I helped you, I was supposed to assure that Zayn went through the stones. That is the debt my mother is paying with her help. But I wanted to help, for Zayn. I do not owe him a debt, but he is my blood and my name sake. My love for him extends to you.”

The smile on Bashar’s lips reminds him so much of Zayn’s. His tongue presses against the back of his teeth and his nose wrinkles. “I was born Zayn Bashar Malik.”

**1997 - Bradford, England**

Safaa is curled by his feet, sleeping softly. He has been home for two weeks now, and every night Safaa has slept in the same spot. He had once tried to put her in her own bed, but she had woken in the night sobbing.

The television plays quietly, lighting up the room. A new show - Pokemon. Zayn likes it so far. Safaa had showed him the games she had, cooing over the little characters and teaching him how to catch them.

The apartment is the same. They had not touched his bedroom or much of his belongings. The papers from his mother’s boxes were still strewn across his desk where he had left them before going to Scotland. He has not done much about changing it since he arrived. He has spent most of his time watching the movies he has missed and listening to Safaa’s new favorite songs.

He grew up in this world, but it feels strange to be back in it.

His graduate school letter had came in the mail the year before. His aunty said something about contacting them and reapplying, but Zayn has not yet.

She also applied to jobs for him and Waliyha signed him up for a therapist that he did not think he needed. He talks to Professor Blackthorn sometimes. The Professor admitted to him before he left Scotland that he believed him.

Other than that, he does not talk about it. He cannot deal with the ache, and that same ache has kept him from visiting his parents. The sight of their tombstone will drag out the memory of Liam and Olivier’s, and he is afraid that he cannot handle it.

The suddenness of the phone ringing has Zayn leaping from his skin. He parts away from Safaa quietly to jog into the kitchen.

“Hello.”

“I am sorry to wake you,” Sabeer says into the phone. Another change he is adjusting to. It is strange seeing Waliyha so pregnant, and it makes him feel bad. What did she do when she found out? Did she wish Zayn had been here to share the news with? She admitted to thinking that Zayn would be unhappy about it but he isn’t.

The only reason he pretended to dislike Sabeer was because he was dating Waliyha. It was his duty an an older brother to torture him and scare him. It had failed and Sabeer had never been afraid of him, he was just a polite boy to begin with.

“I was not sleeping,” Zayn mumbles as he rubs at his temples. He wonders what Liam would think about telephones. He finds himself staring at things sometimes, imagining the way Liam’s face would crumple in confusion as Zayn explained a can opener or a microwave. “Is Wali okay?”

“She went into labor. I’m bringing her to the hospital now. She wants you and Saf there. Oh man,” Sabeer breathes nervously into the receiver, “I am so nervous.”

Waking up Safaa is a chore at first, until he tells her the news. She walks like a zombie to the car, but she is alert once they pull into the hospital parking lot.

Sometimes, he too feels like a zombie. He thinks the feeling will go away, or at least enough where he can act like there is not anything bothering him. He feels his sisters’ eyes on him at times, worrying over him.

He stopped talking about Liam, he stopped hoping they would understand how much he loved him. He stopped hoping they would understand what it felt like to lose him. To them, he had been kidnapped and has a weird case of Stockholm Syndrome.

Safaa holds his hand as they sit in the waiting room, bouncing in her seat. Zayn feels just on edge. The sound of technology eases Zayn some, but he cannot keep the images of Nicola giving birth out of his mind. The fear Eoghan and Liam’s eyes. Liam telling him his mother died in childbirth.

It can still happen, and panic washes through Zayn, making him jump onto his feet and charge towards the secretary desk. His hands shake, and he huffs out in relief when Sabeer intercepts him. There is a bright smile on his face as he grabs for Zayn’s arms.

“It’s a girl man. It’s a girl.”

“Waliyha?” Zayn blurts.

“She looked like a demon, but I’ve never loved her more,” Sabeer laughs loudly, tears appearing in his eyes.

Zayn finds himself missing Olivier again as he crouches beside Waliyha, arms out to take the small, wailing bundle into his arms. She is so small, her face scrunched and so _red_. Her cries calm as Zayn holds her to his chest, rocking and cooing gently.

He wonders what Liam would say if he were here.

“She likes you more than me already,” Waliyha breathes, exhaustion clear in her voice.

“What is your name, wee one?” Zayn coos. She closes a tiny hand around his finger when he holds it out for her.

“Maira,” Waliyha says, smiling as she holds her hand out to grab Zayn’s arm and squeeze it.

For a moment, his pain seems distant as he dips his head close to the little bairn’s. “Maira. It’s beautiful.”

*

It is nearly morning by the time Zayn and Safaa leave the hospital. He tucks her into his bed, peppering a kiss to her forehead before he leaves again.

It has been a long time. Even before he had gone to Scotland, it had been some time since he had last visited his parents.

The sky is a flood of reds and pinks as the sun emerges over the horizon, sending a soft glow over the field of grass and stone. His feet lead him along a path he has walked a thousand times before, bringing him to a large stone with the words Malik engraved boldly at the top.

It is surrounded by bushels of flowers, some bright and fresh, some wilting. Zayn sits before it, feeling small as he tucks his knees under his chin and holds them close to his chest.

“Baba,” Zayn says softly, rocking himself. It is a simple word, but they pull tears from his eyes in a second. “Mumma, I am sorry it has been so long.”

Zayn talks through the tears. There are times where he has to stop, choking on Liam’s name, but he talks until the sun burns brightly over head and the tears have ceased. He talks until he no longer feels like there are the same wilted flowers that surround the tombstone in his chest.

**1999 - London, England**

“I really can’t Safaa! I work all night,” Zayn says as he holds the phone tightly to his ear. Maira clings to his leg, wiggling her body and squeezing her fingers for Zayn to pick her up.

“Oh come on,” Safaa complains. “You’ll really like him. He’s hot and works at a law firm. He has a kid, but that shouldn’t be an issue right? You love kids.”

Zayn grunts when he lifts Maira. She is getting so big, soon he won’t be able to pick her up at all. She curls an arm around his neck, fingers rubbing over the nape like he used to do for her when she was younger and he would rock her to sleep.

“It’s a huge issue because I’m not interested. Cancel and stop trying to hook me up with people. If you set me up again, it is just going to be like every other time.”

Safaa groans again. “You are insufferable. Why do you always tell people you’re married? You need more people in your life than just us and the dogs.”

Zayn scoffs. “No, I just need more dogs.”

He hangs up after a bit more bickering and holds Maira close, rocking her. She pulls at his hair and pinches his cheeks, giggling each time.

He falls onto the couch with her on his lap. He should be getting ready for his shift at the hospital, but Waliyha has yet to pick up Maira and he has half a mind to call out.

“Saysay!” Maira cooes, shaking Zayn’s finger. She pinches at the metal band around his finger. For some reason, she loves it almost as much as Zayn does. He ruffles the black hair curling around her head.

“It is made out of a key from Uncle Liam’s home,” Zayn says quietly. He hasn’t talked about it in a long time, but sometimes he does when it is just him and Maira. She is the only one who doesn’t get tired of it, probably because she is too young to understand most of what he says. “Broch Tuarach. It means north facing tower. Maybe I will take you someday?”

Maira giggles, jumping in his lap.

“It doesn’t look the same,” Zayn murmurs as he reaches to the table in front of the couch and grabbing the small, wooden dog that rests on top. He hands it to Maira, who giggles more. “Nothing is the same but the love I have for him in my heart.”

Maira giggles again and Zayn smiles before smothering a kiss to her cheek. At least he can smile about it now.

**1745 - Helwater, England**

From the entrance gate to the front of the mansion is a long pathway that is almost too painful to walk down. Perfect green grass surrounded them, along with bushes with color flowers and an array of stone statues.

The door is opening before they can knock and Bashar holds an arm out to help Liam up the stairs. He has healed well, but the journey has made him feel like an old man. Bashar had decided Liam would not survive the journey to the castle, yet remained quiet about their new destination.

Bashar had said Louis would know their change of plans, and though Liam knew this, he still jumps in surprise when Louis opens the massive doors in front of him.

“My dearest Liam, come in. Let’s see how well Bashar had tended to you.”

Old dislike returns when Louis grabs him, but he shoves it away and lets Louis guide him inside.

“This is Helwater. The Malik home. It is usually not this empty, but with Bashar gone, Mahaad still working with that awful Duke, and Lady Maira in mourning, I have been left in charge and I am not a fan of servants,” Louis goes on as he guides Liam through the house. “Lady Maira should be returning soon. She may have not liked that bastard son of hers, but he was her child so it has been difficult for her.”

Louis stops suddenly before bowing a head to Bashar. “I do apologize for your loss.”

When he looks at Liam, his eyes are softer and maybe even sadder. “And yours. This may not mean much, but I do believe you will be reunited. The world has a funny way of bringing together those who belong together.”

Liam only nods. The world had brought Zayn and him together in a strange way, but he will not get his hopes up of seeing Zayn again.

He had thought about it as they traveled. Surely in his time he will see Scotland’s failure at Culloden.

Liam just hopes the thought of his death will be enough for Zayn to move on and maybe find someone else to care for him.

“There is a lot to catch you up on,” Louis says as he brings Liam into the dining hall. The long table is already covered in food and Liam’s stomach grumbles in response. “Firstly, the laird of Castle Leoch tried to hold me in the dungeons, asking questions about that husband of yours. I believe him to still be alive but his weak health made it difficult for him to keep me. His condition may have been made worse by me but I did not appreciate the tone in which he spoke Zayn’s name nor, of course, being in a dungeon.”

Liam glances at Bashar, who moves to bring him food without hesitancy. He wishes Louis would stop saying Zayn’s name. It makes his fingers flex with the need to shove Louis hard against the wall.

“I have a list of Scottish soldiers that were captured if you would like to see it. When you are ready, of course. Maira convinced the King not to execute them but she could not persuade him to free them completely. I may have managed that a bit on my own.”

As if on cue, the sound of heavy footsteps sounds and any strength left in Liam’s legs give out. He grips at the chair he sits in, feeling the tears he has tried to hold in threaten to spill when he sees Paddy standing in the entrance.

His hair is raggedy and his face gaunt, but there is a smile on his lips when Paddy bends forward in a bow. “M’lord. I am happy to see that ugly mug of yers.”

Liam grins. He had pushed away every thought of Paddy as much as he could. It was too difficult to think about losing him as well as Zayn. The last he had seen of him was before they stepped foot onto Culloden and he had thought that would be the last time.

“Ye are no as happy as me, Paddy.”

Liam requests the list of prisoners but Louis insists he eats and has his wounds tended to first. He does not like the feel of Louis’ hands on his body, but the pain eases away after a few touches. Magic.

“I am awaiting word from Nicola,” Paddy says. He does not hesitate to stuff his face full of food as much as Liam does. “To assure the wee one’s arrival at Lallybroch.”

Liam nods, fingering the parchment Louis had handed him. He is nervous to open it, to see which of his men have been captured and which killed. There had been a sea of bodies from what he could see, but he assures himself that if there are names not on the list, they could still be alive like him.

“I gave Lallybroch to Young Liam,” Liam announces quietly. “As I cannot return. I do no want the people to challenge Nicola’s claim on the land.”

“And Zayn? Could he no run Lallybroch until you are fit to return?”

Liam pulls open the parchment and scans the names scribbled down. The silence seems to be enough of an answer for Paddy, who hangs his head with remorse on his face.

“We will return to Lallybroch,” Paddy says firmly, “And we will place his grave next to your father’s.”

Liam jerks slightly. It is understandable for Paddy to assume that Zayn has died. But the idea of it makes him want to empty the contents of his stomach.

“We will,” Liam says weakly as he touches the last name scribbled onto the paper. _Niall of Clan Horan._

**1747 - Helwater, England**

“Tell me more, if it is to yer liking.”

Maira sighs softly before resting her hands over the blanket she had been knitting. There is amusement in her eyes and patience in her tone.

Liam sits across from her, knife digging into a small piece of wood. The table next to him is covered in different statues he has made over the last few months. He helps around the grounds as much as possible but he is starting to get restless here. There is not much for him to do other than carve and work on the grounds.

“You know, Mac Dubh, I had a carved toy when I was young,” Maira starts, eyeing the piece of wood in his hand. “A dog, with black spots. They wore off as I grew older. Zayn gave it to me when I was younger and I gave it to Bashar. I am sure he still has it.”

There is a smile on his lips when he drops his eyes to stare at the toy he is making. His heart feels just as warm as it did when he had carved that dog for Zayn as a wedding gift. “Did he ever remarry?”

“No,” Maira says as she starts to knit again. “He always wore your ring.”

It makes him sad, not happy. Zayn had said he would return when Safaa was of age, but Liam knew he would not. Maira had told him long before Zayn made that promise that he lived his life with her before she came here.

“He brought me to get my very first tattoo, though it upset my mum quite a bit,” Maira laughs. She holds out her hand, showing the dove printed on her skin. “I wanted one like him. He had so many. All up his arms and across his chest. When I was little, he would draw them on my arms. They always washed away but my mum would get red in the face and yell at him until he washed them off.”

It is a routine of theirs. Every night in front of the fire, Liam carves and Maira knits. Maira tells him stories about growing up with Zayn. Sometimes Bashar will join at times, his back pressed to his mother’s legs. Despite being a grown man, he very much looks like a child beside his mother.

He no longer looks as much like Zayn, but there are times when Liam looks into his eyes that the longing for Zayn becomes worse.

“I ken he was verra sad when ye left,” Liam mumbles. “He has lost quite a lot and it sounds as if he loved ye like ye were his own bairn.”

The smile slips from her face for a moment and Liam wonders if he overstepped. There are times where he thinks about yelling at Zayn to be with his sisters, and though it has been two years, he still feels guilty. He remembers the way Zayn had looked so pained, and it had been his fault.

“I am sure he will return,” Maira sighs. “Louis swore it to me. I would have not asked you to part from your love so I could stay with mine if he had not.”

Liam does not respond as he continues to work on his toys. In a few weeks time, he is to return to Lallybroch. Nicola has given birth again, and for once he can return without worry of a search party for him.

Liam Payne had died in the Battle of Culloden beside his clansmen. Mac Dubh emerged and when they return to Scotland, he will have another name. From there, another. Until Liam Payne’s face is forgotten.

He wants to open a paper company perhaps. Publish the thoughts in his head for the people of Scotland to read, so they all know of his love for Zayn. Bashar had seemed interested as well, wanting to have his name on paper in hopes that someday, someone in the future will read and know of it.

Maira had assured that it would happen.

“I trust that ye will take care of my son as he has cared for you,” Maira says quietly without looking at him. “I do not like him traveling from me for too long.”

“I give ye my word,” Liam says.

She looks at him for a long moment, nodding as she accepts this because Liam never breaks his word.

“Can I confide in you, Uncle Liam?” Maira places down her knitting and the serious expression on her face, one of sadness and regret, has Liam doing the same with his wooden toy. “Secrecy burdens me greatly and I wish that you will not be upset with me.”

Tension seeps down Liam’s spine, but he has not the slightest inkling of what she could mean. He tries to think of something, but his life has been quiet over the last two years.

“Do you remember what I told you? The reason Zayn must return home?”

Liam nods. He remembers everything about Zayn. His life has been quiet, filled with moments of him reminiscing and thinking what Zayn would think or feel about the life Liam has been handed.

“It was a lie,” Maira says, the regret in her expression worsening. “I did not know if Safaa was in any danger of being taken away. Actually, I did not think she would be. I was afraid that if Zayn did not return when he did in my life, then he would not at all and my memories of him would disappear.”

Liam lets out a shaky breath. Maira looks started at the smile on his lips. “Why would I be angry? Ye ken I would give every finger, every toe, every limb to keep my memories of Zayn.”

Maira looks relieved as she smiles. “I do apologize for misleading you. And as an apology, I have one more thing to tell you.”

Liam waits. The sound of footsteps alerts them to Bashar’s entrance, but this does not dissuade Maira from continuing.

“When I left my time to venture here, Zayn had been knee deep in his search for you. He wanted to return to you, though he insisted he was not going to. I think he did that for my benefit, to assure that he would not leave me. But I knew he was going to, and Zayn was the only person in my life that I had.”

Maira’s voice wavers again and Bashar falls to his knees beside her, taking her hand into his own to comfort her. “It is okay, Ammi.”

“I came through the stones in hope of following beside him, and helping him in his search for you. He narrowed it down to Edinburgh, but my knowledge of time travel had been incorrect, and I arrived much too early.”

Liam’s heart throbs in his ears as he tries to process what Maira is telling him. He has wished greatly for Zayn to return to him, he had hope that he would even if he told himself that disappointment might just kill him.

But he had the hope, and he did not care how long he had to wait. His hope would remain that Zayn would return, one day and it only grows now, as Maira confirms it.

“Zayn is going to return to you, Uncle Liam. I know this for a fact. Just as I knew you would be here sitting with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for reading and I can't wait to see what you guys think of the chapter. Also, any suggests of other ziam AU's you'd like to see. I'm currently writing a long fic for another fandom (bts) but that's also angsty and could use some fluffy things to write, so any suggestions are welcome ^_^
> 
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> 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, long author’s note warning. Sorry in advance haha.
> 
> Most importantly, there is a small trigger warning for this chapter. There is implied rape / abuse mentioned quickly near the beginning. It isn’t descriptive at all, but if you have questions before you read please shoot them my way. 
> 
> Secondly, I was asked for visuals. It is a bit difficult to find a picture of Liam where he looks like Liam in this fic, because I changed his hair a bit and it’s supposed to be long and curly. But [here](https://fsmedia.imgix.net/db/a9/05/46/e38c/4443/a6be/2977bd63740a/sam-heughan-as-jaime-fraser.jpeg) is what his character in the show looks like, and I imagined it exactly like that. [Here's](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/3d/fb/34/3dfb34ab869cc4dbcf68fe10936d6999.jpg) his scars as well. Zayn looks [like this](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/85/b7/d1/85b7d1595ae6d399316a80cc033c92fb.jpg) roughly while in the eighteenth century (I couldn't find the original creator of that manip, I'm sorry I can't remember), and when I saw [this picture](http://thatgrapejuice.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/zayn-billboard-3-tgj-600x400.jpg) the first time I thought of him in this fic. Honestly, I wish Liam would grow out a beard as thick as I imagined it in this fic bc I would die haha.
> 
> THIRDLY, I am extremely overwhelmed by the feedback that this fic has received. I don’t think I’ve received so much feedback for another fic before. It honestly means the world. I enjoyed seeing the reactions every week and I thank you SO much for your constant support and encouragement. I have something in the works that, if you liked this story, you will definitely (or hopefully I guess lol) like, so please keep your eyes out for that. It’s a surprise. I apologize I am kind of awful at responding to every message, I just realized today how many I've actually missed. Please know I've read them all and even if i'm 48939 days late, I'll respond lol!
> 
> Lastly, I owe my life and this fic to my wonderful beta, Jaya. This is a monster of a fic for me with monster chapters and a monster amount of mistakes and lack of commas (lmao). But thank you SO much for everything you’ve done for me x
> 
> All of my kids from my kid fics are in this story if anyone has noticed? (Bashar, Mahaad, Maira from HotH, Sabeer and Lily from ESYT, Oliv(i)er from SaHt. I was craving writing a kid fic and so I did this instead, but it made me just want to write another kid fic lmao). 
> 
> Okay that’s all, I love you very much enjoy the final chapter xx

**2015 - Scotland**

Zayn had gone online and searched for tickets to Scotland the moment he had hung up the phone with Marc Blackthorn. ‘ _I have reason to believe this Liam of yours did not die at Culloden_.’

It could have been the tiniest of hints, but Zayn didn’t care. It is hope. He needs hope as of late. His life is consumed by work and he just recently lost his dog. He feels as if he is going mad again and he - he needs this hope.

Maira had been eager to go with him. She has always loved listening to stories of Uncle Liam. He would tell her them when she was too little to understand and selfishly he just never stopped. She always listened like she believed him and he needed that. His sisters made him feel as if Liam wasn’t real.

Safaa believed him, but she had been so hellbent on finding someone for Zayn to be in a relationship with that he stopped talking about Liam to her too.

“I still don’t think I understand,” Maira says as she rubs at her belly. He wonders if she is going to be sick again. “You are excited because you think that a paper company Uncle Liam maybe owned, but under a pseudonym, burned down?”

Zayn bites his tongue not to groan in frustration. Excitement is pumping through his veins. He hasn’t felt anything like this since Maira was born. And that had been the only time. Even when he finished school, it wasn’t close to this feeling.

“Marc’s theory is that if eighteen years have passed since I have returned here, it would be eighteen years later if I were to return there.”

He found evidence of Liam’s survival after Culloden, but it had only been a few months later. A document signing over his home to his nephew, but he thought he had done that before Culloden. He remembers the piece of parchment that Liam had given to Harry to deliver.

Maira stares at him as he goes on, picking up the papers scattered out before him. “You can’t go back.”

Zayn stills, hands hovering over his desk. There are tears suddenly in her eyes.

“I don’t want you to go back.”

He softens, reaching over to take his hands into hers. It is a lie, but he says it convincingly enough. “I am not. I just - I just want to know that he lived a long life.”

His excitement dies some as he continues and he can’t look at the tears still clinging to Maira’s eyes. “Eighteen years after Culloden is 1763. If the fire happens after that - that might mean he, he is alive.”

Maira wipes at her tears with the back of her hand. It is rare that she cries, but he has caught her doing it a few times since they arrived. “It is only a theory though. I mean, I don’t want to burst your bubble, I’m just saying. I do hope it is true though.”

He pushes his excitement aside, shoving the papers away so he can reach across the desk and take Maira’s hands into his own. “Tell me what it is that has your heart hurting so deeply?”

“I’d rather not,” Maira says, the words choked sounding.

Zayn sighs. They have had many awkward heart to hearts as she started to grow. He can handle another one. “You know, when Liam and I...broke up, I had been away from your mumma and Safaa for over a year. Seeing them made me so happy, but the pain made it difficult to _be_ happy.

“I didn’t feel happiness again until you were born,” he goes on, smiling. “And I feel the most happy with you are near me. But not when you are upset, so please, tell me.”

Maira shakes her head again, wiping at the tears with the back of her hand. “You’re happy, I don’t want to make you sad.”

At this, Zayn stands and walks around the desk so he can sit closer to her. “What did he do?”

Her eyes grow wide, her lips parting. She has always been restless when nervous, her hands rolling over each other and tucking between her legs before she pulls them out and does the same rolling motion.

Zayn has only met the boyfriend a few times and he had been rude. It had embarrassed Maira, who apologized profusely on his behalf.

“I’m scared of him,” Maira says softly, her voice nearly a whisper. “He - he isn’t nice and he likes things that scare me.”

Zayn kneels before her, worry building quickly inside of him. It is mixed with anger, with a need to protect her. “Like what? He hasn’t hurt you has he?”

Maira stills, lips parting open for a moment and it is enough of a confirmation. Zayn doesn’t react though. He doesn’t want Maira to think he is angry with her, or to fall quiet again. He remains calm, or at least he hopes he appears that way.

“He has like disturbing kinks, like violent ones, and - and I don’t want to participate in them and he gets angry at me when I don’t.”

Zayn pushes up until their faces are level and gently wipes the tears from her cheeks and pulls her against his chest. Anger rattles inside of him, and he hopes Maira can’t feel the way it makes his body shake.

“Has he - does he make you participate in them, anyway?”

There is no response, Maira only presses close to Zayn and sobs.

*

“I will kill him, _bhaiya_. I will murder the son of a bitch with my bare hands. I will pull every one of his finger nails off.” Waliyha is spitting into the phone, her voice switching between sharp with poison and breaking with sobs. “I will end his fucking life, I swear it.”

Zayn presses his face against the arm he has pressed against the wall and sighs. He let himself cry out his anger once he finally managed to get Maira to sleep.

He’s put his search on the back burner, but he has a few years until the trace of Liam is a dead end.

“I’m reporting it to the police,” Zayn explains softly. “And we will return in a few days.”

God, Maira had only told him a few details but it is enough to make his skin crawl. It reminds him of Captain Malik. He has nightmares about the Captain touching Liam sometimes, and he wakes in the middle of the night covered in sweat. It has been awhile since his last nightmare, but he is positive he will have one tonight.

Waliyha makes a hysterical noise into the phone. “And the police will do what? Murder is the only option here, Zayn.”

Zayn can’t help but grin at this. “It’s him who should be in prison, not you.”

Waliyha doesn’t laugh and Zayn sends a text to Sabeer, urging him to keep an eye on Waliyha so she doesn’t actually go out and hunt down Maira’s boyfriend tonight. He hesitates sending it though, unsure of whether not it is a good idea.

Sabeer would easily accompany his wife on her murder mission.

“Why doesn’t she tell me these things?” Waliyha says quietly. “I try to show her I am always here and that I love her more than anything, but she is so distant from me.”

There is a crack in Zayn’s chest as he listens to his little sister’s broken voice. “I’ll have her call you in the morning, okay? Try to calm down on the murder thing and just listen to what she has to say about how she feels, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Waliyha cries. “Okay, love you. Hold her tight for me tonight, please.”

Zayn promises that he will, but when he shuffles into Maira’s bedroom to check on her, he finds that she is gone.

The bed is empty, the blanket thrown back as if Maira didn’t even care about attempting to make it look as if she still asleep under the covers. He flicks on the light, his heart falling into his stomach when he spots the cell phone still charging on the nightstand.

Fuck, Waliyha is going to murder him too.

He picks up the phone, sending a quiet thank you in relief when it doesn’t ask for a passcode. Cell phones are still a bit difficult for him, but he knows enough to find the history.

The last is the yellow app that comes with the phone, one Zayn isn’t sure the use of. It looks like a notebook, and there’s his name at the top.

_Mamu,_

_I went to find Uncle Liam. See you soon._

The strength in his legs give out and he doesn’t even feel it when his knees slam into the ground. It would have taken him forever to find this note usually, and she probably did that to give herself enough time to get to the Stones.

*

He hasn’t finished preparing. While researching, he had been working on clothing to return with. Durable clothing with pockets hidden within where he has stored antibiotics and medical tools. It isn’t quite finished, but it didn’t matter.

But it’s a thought in the far back of his mind. He wishes he never told her how to get through the stones he thinks as he shoves his gemstone earrings into his ears. He sighs deeply, running from where he has parked his car.

He should have messaged his sisters, but he doesn’t want to bring them the bad news. He needs to find Maira and bring her home.

He didn’t know if it would work. He assumed if Louis was here than the stones were open. He had never tried since he came back home through them. He never had a reason until now.

The buzzing sound fills him with relief and he doesn’t hesitate in slamming his palms against the stones.

**1763 - Edinburgh, Scotland**

Liam adjusts the glasses perched on his nose, staring down at the paper in his hands. The words clear, but he still has to keep the paper a good distance away from his face in order to read it.

“You are getting old, m’lord,” Olivier chuckles from where he sits on Liam’s work desk, not working like he is supposed to. “Do ye need me to read it for ye?”

“Ye should be workin’, no runnin’ yer mouth,” Liam snaps playfully, a grin on his own lips. He ruffles the thick curls on top of Olivier’s head so he knows.

He has grown into a handsome man and it is a fact that Olivier is quick to remind everyone of. He is a bit taller than Liam and just as broad. His long limbs have made him a good swordsman, though Liam hates when he duels.

Something he does quite often. Over a lady’s heart or Liam’s honor.

“Ye have no given me instruction,” Olivier reminds him. Over time, he has sounded more like a Scottish man that a French one, though his accent slips out at times when he has been drinking or hit with strong emotions. “Except for sort the ink but Bash has yet to return with it.”

At that moment, the bell chimes from the entrance and Bashar appears at the balcony, overlooking them a moment later. He had cut his long hair a while ago, keeping it short to his scalp. There are deep wrinkles surrounding his eyes and quoting his mouth. There are times Liam watches him, wondering if this is how Zayn has aged as well.

Not a day has passed where he has not thought about him. He had fought with Nicola over his disappearance, insisting it was for the best but Nicola had been angry that Zayn would leave.

Olivier cried himself to sleep for months, but now he speaks of Zayn with a sad happiness in his eyes.

“Aye, what is yer excuse now?” Liam grunts, nudging his head towards Bashar so Olivier gets the hint to start working.

Olivier stands immediately, rolling his eyes. “Aye, m’lord. Are ye sure ye dinna want me to read that -”

Liam swats the parchment at him until he breaks off into a run to avoid him.

“We will be needing a new sign,” Bashar explains. He holds up a broken piece of wood, showing off the engraved _Bran_. “Currently we are, Nan and Malik Paper Company. I have sent that nephew of yours off to buy a new one.”

Liam raises a hand to explain that he has heard him before he returns back to the letter. It is from Nicola and he sighs, hearing the angry sound of her voice as he reads. Young Eoghan and Elspeth had run off, leaving Lallybroch to find him here in Edinburgh.

He has tried lecturing them and telling them they should be taking care of their mother. Especially Elspeth, who is too young to be away from home. It is a stress Liam does not need. He has seen the young paper boys who come to collect each week staring at her, and he is afraid he is going to lose business if he keeps swatting them on the heads.

But, he likes having them here and he will let the whole business crumble before he lets one of those boys look at her like that.

“You will never believe who visited me today.”

Liam looks away from the parchment to find Bashar on the lower level with him now. There is a glow in his eyes, one that makes Liam forget about the parchment.

“Louis,” Bashar explains. “You know he only comes around when the stones open.”

The hope inside of him is still there, but he does not get excited. The stones have opened many times, according to Louis, and yet Zayn has still not emerged.

Unless he has, and does not know where to go. But Maira had told Zayn would search for him in Edinburgh. It is the only reason he stays. He has flooded the newspapers they print with poems, printing words Zayn has spoken to him under the name Pablo James.

It had made him him laugh so hard there were tears in his eyes and an ache in his belly. It had been one of the first times it felt truly good remembering Zayn against him, calling him Pablo with that crooked grin of his.

“Ye ken that ye have explained this time travel business to me a thousand times over and I canna make sense of it,” Liam sighs in frustration. “When ye talk about it my head hurts.”

Bashar snorts. “He did not mention the stones.”

Liam’s attempt at a grin falters as his fingers squeeze the edges the parchment he holds. He huffs out, adjusting his glasses before he walks off to read the letter again.

Maybe he should have Olivier help him read, but Olivier is part of the reason his nephew and niece had ran away in the first place. They had grown close during Olivier’s time at Lallybroch. Olivier and Eoghan like brothers, and Olivier and Elspeth like something - something that makes Liam feel hot in the ears with a fatherly protection.

“Bashar, if ye are willing, will ye accompany Olivier to sort the ink? Make sure he spends more time working and no eyeing that niece of mine.”

Bashar bends forward, bowing slightly and Liam frowns at this. They are partners, and he had told Bashar to stop this long ago. “Aye, Aye, Mister Brannan. Or -” he holds up the part of the sign that had broken off, “Mister Bran?”

It had been an easy choice, taking the last name Brannan when it came time to change his name again. The legend of Brannan and Malik had been told to him a few times by Maira and Louis, though he admits it had been hard to follow.

Especially since they had spoke over pints of port.

Liam falls into a chair beside the printing press, tossing the letter aside before he takes the glasses from his nose. He has not slept well in a few nights, working late to assure this week’s paper will be out on time. There had been problems with the printing press, Olivier had accidentally spilt a good amount of ink, and now their sign is broken.

Everything is going wrong this week and he desperately wants to travel back to Lallybroch and sit in the small patch of grass in front of Zayn’s tombstone.

His heart lurches in his chest. It had been for show, and at first, he hated it. But then it became a place where he could visit Zayn and talk to him, hoping the wind would take his words to wherever Zayn was at the time.

Liam pinches his temples, groaning at the sound of the bell chiming again. Even with a ruined sign, people keep coming inside and bothering him. He is never getting work done.

Someone clears their throat as Liam stands, rubbing a hand down his face. He has had difficulty with seeing things that are close by for some time now, but lately he has been struggling with seeing things in the distance as well. Age is catching up to him and he is starting to feel it in every inch of his body.

Bashar is back on the second floor, leaning over the railing. There is a crumpled look on his face, nervous, and Liam frowns. What did Olivier do now?

Liam stills with his glasses half way up his nose. In moments, Bashar had changed clothes. There is a loose white shirt hanging off his shoulders, tucked into trousers that he had not been wearing a moment before. There is ink all over his hands and covering the skin revealed at his collar.

“Liam.”

It is spoken softly, but the sob that accompanies his name seems loud in the quiet printing shop. Liam stares up at the second floor, at the man looking down at him that he slowly realizes is not Bashar.

The beating of his heart against his chest is rapid, pushing a tremor throughout his body. There is an angel standing above him, and he cannot pull his eyes away. Maybe his eyesight is worse than he thought, maybe exhaustion is playing tricks with his mind but it looks as if Zayn Brannan Payne is standing before him.

“Liam,” Zayn says again, this time louder, and Liam tries to speak in return but the room spins around him and everything goes black.

*

Zayn has imagined what it would be like to reunite with Liam. He has imagined those strong arms around him, those soft lips against his own. He has imagined Liam’s confusion and maybe even some crying, but he had not imagined that Liam would pass out.

Zayn flies down to the first floor, falling to his knees to take Liam’s face into his hands. Up close, he can see the unfamiliar wrinkles surrounding his eyes and mouth. His laugh lines are deep and it makes Zayn feel warm inside.

“Liam,” Zayn hisses, slapping his cheeks quickly until Liam groans loudly and his eyes scrunch as he wakes.

There is a moment where Liam lays with his head in Zayn’s lap, staring up at Zayn with a slack mouth before he flings himself upwards.

“Careful,” Zayn cautions, gripping Liam’s chest to keep him from moving too quickly and passing out again. Liam ignores the warning and cups Zayn’s cheeks, his eyes glued to Zayn’s face.

Those eyes fill with tears quickly and Zayn can feel the tremble in Liam’s body as he circles his hands around Liam’s wrists to keep his hands resting on his face.

“Are you real, Sassenach?’

A soft sob breaks from Zayn’s lips at the sound of Liam’s voice. He nods as the tears spill over his eyelids, dancing down his cheeks and the rough pads of Liam’s thumbs. “I am real.”

“Ye are more beautiful than I remember. Every day I thought of yer face so I would never forget,” Liam breathes, pushing forward so their knees knock against each other. “My memory did no do ye justice.”

Zayn nudges his head into Liam’s rough palm. “Every day?”

“Aye,” Liam whispers. “Even apart from ye, every day I have loved ye more than the day before.”

The sound that leaves his lips as he presses his forehead to Liam’s is more of a whimper than anything. There are still tears in his eyes but he feels happy, happier than he has felt in a long time.

He had came through the stones in search of Maira, but he came here first. He knows Liam would help him find her, he knows Liam will love her as much as he does.

Liam reaches between them, holding Zayn’s hand in his lap. There is a pressure on his ring finger as if Liam is pressing down against the ring he wears before soft lips are pushing against his own.

“Can I kiss ye?” Liam pleads, though their lips are already touching. “It has been a long time, Sassenach, but I think I may remember how.”

Zayn huffs out a wet laugh as he curls his arm around Liam’s neck to pull him into the kiss. Liam complies easily, lips parting around his own.

After all these years, their lips still mold together as if they were designed to be connected. Liam moves in sync with him, sighing with every tilt of his head.

“Oh _mo duinne_ ,” Liam whispers, tilting Zayn’s head as his lips hesitate over his. “Tell me ye are still mine.”

“I returned to you,” Zayn tells him. “Even when I thought -” his voice chokes on the words and he smiles until the feeling goes away, “you did not survive the Battle, my heart was still yours.”

Liam nods, rubbing his thumb over Zayn’s bottom lip as he stares intently at his mouth. Zayn wants to kiss him again - he could spend the rest of his life kissing Liam - but they have eighteen years of things to catch up on.

“Bashar saved me,” Liam tells him quietly, eyes flicking up to reach Zayn’s. “And his mother, Maira. I did no keep my word, I was ready to die.”

The feeling of jumping through the stones and flying two hundred years in the past is painful, and uncomfortable. It feels as if his insides are tearing apart, but it does not compare to the feeling that hits him as he registers Liam’s words.

“Maira,” he breathes in confusion, pulling away from Liam’s touch. “Bashar’s mother?”

Liam looks hesitant as his hands fall into his lap, staring up at Zayn as Zayn stands and paces around the small room.

Bashar had been around Zayn’s age when they first met all those years ago, meaning that his mother had to be at least forty at the time, if she had Bashar very young. Now, at least sixty.

Maira had left him at eighteen.

Zayn feels like he might be sick.

There are strong arms wrapping around him in a moment, pulling him against Liam’s hard chest. “Do ye want me to take ye to see her? It is a bit o’ a travel and ye will need rest first.”

Zayn pulls back, sniffling quietly as he drags his fingers through the thick beard covering Liam’s jaw. He had tried growing his own out, missing the feeling of scratching Liam’s jaw in the morning, but he thought too much of what Liam would think of it. His cheeks are still as round and just as pink, his brown eyes just as bright and warm.

“Tell me you are mine still,” Zayn breathes. Liam had been so surprised by Zayn’s return that he had passed out. He could have moved on if he thought Zayn would not come home to him. It would make sense for him to do but it makes his chest break thinking of it.

He had not thought of it until now.

“Aye,” Liam says firmly, slipping his arms down Zayn’s back as he bends Zayn slightly to pull him closer. “Maira told me ye would return to me one day. Even if she did no, there is no a breath that passes through my body that is no yers. No a thump in my chest that is no yer doing. Ye have kept me verra much alive though I am an old man now, I am yers and I hope ye will have me like this. Blood of my blood, bone of my bone.”

Zayn huffs out a laugh, snorting loudly through his nose. He has missed Liam’s nonsense that makes him feel as if he is drowning in affection.

After years of drowning in pain, he enjoys this.

“I am older than you,” Zayn reminds him.

Liam huffs out a laugh, his voice deep and growling. Zayn bites at his lip, heart flipping in his chest as he immediately moves his body closer to Liam as if they had not spent any time away from each other.

“Ye look like ye are barely a bairn,” Liam murmurs against his jaw. “Ye are no a witch, Sassenach, but an angel sent down from the Lord himself.”

Zayn grips at Liam’s shoulders, shivering slightly at the feel of Liam’s breath as he whispers the words against his jaw.

There is a loud bang that has Liam pulling away from Zayn and stopping his attempts at pushing him against his desk. They both turn towards the entrance where there is now a glossy black substance pooling over the ground and a tall man with surprise on his face.

It is a familiar face but Zayn struggles to place it as the man approaches him and falls to his knees. There are fingers grabbing at Zayn’s hands and he hesitates before the man presses his face against his stomach.

“ _Mon seigneur, vous êtes revenu!_ ”

The words are soft and thick with emotion. Zayn feels that same overwhelming emotion as he realizes now why the boy is familiar.

He bends over Olivier’s head, clutching it against his stomach as he runs his fingers through his curls. “Yes, Ollie, I have returned. You have grown so much.”

Olivier tilts his head back, eyes glossy but there is a cocky smirk on his lips. When he speaks, his voice changes into a thick, Highlander accent. “I am quite the man now.”

Liam grumbles something but there is a fond look on his face as he watches them. “Full o’ himself, he is. More of a pain in me arse than anything.”

Zayn wrinkles his nose at this, pulling Olivier to his feet so he can get a better look at him. His cheeks are no longer chubby and there is a sprinkle of hair covering his jaw. There is still youth in his teary eyes. “Has Liam cared for you as well as I know he has?”

Oliver nods firmly. “Aye. He has turned into a grumpy ol’ bastard though.” Olivier pauses, eyes blowing wide. “I apologize for the language, mi’lord.”

“S’okay,” Zayn assures as he reaches out to cup Liam’s hip and tug him close.

Olivier is much taller now, but he still clings to them the way he had when he was younger. Except now his arms curl around their torsos instead of their legs.

Zayn has missed being home.

*

It is similar to their wedding night, the way they sit on the bed sharing stories back and forth about their years apart. Liam is restless when Zayn speaks, sipping at port or peppering the palm of his hands with kisses.

Zayn is the first to interrupt the conversation with a kiss to Liam’s lips, quieting him as he tells him how he would insist Maira tell him stories about Zayn even though they hurt.

“She told me about these,” Liam breathes against his lips, taking Zayn’s arm into his own. His fingers gently push up the soft material of his sleeve, revealing skin covered in ink. “Tattoos? She called them, if I remember correctly.”

Zayn kisses at Liam’s jaw as he pulls Zayn’s arm up for a better look. “I want ye to tell me about them.”

“I will,” Zayn promises before he lets Liam go to reach behind him for his collar.

He tugs the shirt off and for a moment he feels shy as Liam’s eyes drop over his bare torso. His eyes are wide, mouth slack and hands hesitating on his thighs.

“Ye look like a painting,” Liam murmurs.

“Do you like them?” Zayn asks quietly, reaching out to take Liam’s arms and guide them to his chest. There is hesitancy in Liam’s touch, but he traces over the black lines without tearing his eyes away.

“Is a bit strange, I will admit,” Liam says, “but ye have never been more beautiful.”

Liam stops his fingers before his palm is sliding over Zayn’s breath, a rush of air passing over his lips. Zayn warms.

He had gotten Liam’s name tattooed a few years after returning to his own time. He had tried to recreate Liam’s handwriting as best as he could and the Payne family crest as well, which he is not sure he did properly. But it stands proudly over his chest and Liam looks as if he has just won the lottery.

“Aye, I like this one verra much,” he says, eyes sparkling.

Liam ducks his head forward and Zayn gasps as he feels the hard press of Liam’s mouth over the name. He sucks his skin hard, teeth digging in and groaning low in his throat. Zayn threads his fingers through Liam’s reddish curls, holding him close as Liam licks over the mark before trailing over his skin to leave more.

Like their wedding night, they lose themselves in the feel of each other’s skin between their stories. It is hard not to touch Liam after so long, though he craves to know more about what Liam has done. He enjoys listening to Liam talk about Nicola and raising Olivier, from living at the Malik House to traveling around Europe with Bashar.

He enjoys every word spoken about Maira, though a sadness creeps into him at the mention of her name. Anger and disappointment join it, and he tries to hide it because Liam is so fond of her, just like he knew he would be.

“I should have not talked to her about you,” Zayn whispers as Liam leans over him, tracing his features with a soft look on his face. “Maybe she would not have been so reckless. She had just told me about her abusive boyfriend, I should have seen the signs she would run away.”

“Ye can predict the future now?” Liam asks softly, bopping Zayn’s nose as it wrinkles in response. “I did no think so. Did ye ken she possessed magic in yer time?”

“No,” Zayn breathes, eyeing the ceiling as he tries to remember. Liam takes advantage of the angle, kissing over the length of his neck in an attempt at distracting Zayn from his thoughts. “I need to speak with her.”

There is a lot he needs to speak about, and he does not know where to start. Liam has explained the role she has played in him returning home and leaving Liam, her need to stay with her children and the King, the apparent love of her life.

Zayn does not know what to think of it. He does not understand why she would think the eighteenth century would be a better place to raise children than in a world more technologically advanced.

Part of him feels furious that Maira had brought Javaad Malik to this place, where he would grow up to torture his husband. But she could not have known that. Zayn had never told her about the torture Liam had faced.

Another part of him wonders how he had not connected the dots until Liam explained to him. He even felt shocked, overwhelmed by the fact that Maira had grown old here, and that he had been surrounded by pieces of her before he even met her.

“We will leave after ye rest,” Liam hums, kissing over Zayn’s pulse and Zayn breathes shakily, gripping onto Liam’s back.

“You are not letting me rest,” Zayn points out with a giggle.

Liam only hums, eyes closed as he moves to press his mouth against Zayn’s. He kisses him lazily, like he has all the time in the world.

“I am but a man,” Liam sighs, trailing his fingers down to Zayn’s chest. “I have spent many years without pleasure. I canna resist seeking it with ye lyin’ beneath me like this, lookin’ as if ye are willin’ to give.”

“Liam,” Zayn gasps, feeling his face grow hot under Liam’s gaze.

“Have ye became shy while away from me?” Liam asks, as he nudges his lips in the small dip between Zayn’s collarbones.

“It was always you that had the filthy mouth, Liam,” Zayn reminds him, as he tilts his head back into the pillows that smell like Liam. Liam’s teeth are not gentle against his skin but he does not mind. “Even when ye were a wee lil’ virgin.”

Liam groans in complaint, tweaking one of Zayn’s nipples hard between his fingers. There is a grumpy look on his face as he looks at Zayn, but it only lasts a moment before the grin is breaking out in his eyes.

“Ye enjoyed my mouth well, Sassenach.”

Zayn huffs out, pouting slightly as Liam’s hips dip against his, only the thin sheet separating their bare skin. “I think your memory is going in your old age.”

Liam huffs out a laugh, the sound warming through Zayn before Liam is back to peppering kisses over his face. “Ye have always healed my wounds, Sassenach. Now ye have fixed the open wound in my heart with nothing but yer lips.”

Zayn sighs shakily, chasing Liam’s mouth. “Then let me kiss you.”

“Aye, Sassenach, ye may do to me as ye please,” Liam breathes, before pressing their lips back together.

*

The last time Zayn had walked underneath the high arching stone gate in front of him, his life had been falling been falling apart around him.

Now, he feels as if he is breathing for the first time in a long time - a feeling that he has experienced a few times since he has returned to Liam.

“It has not changed,” Zayn breathes, as he takes the hand Liam offers to him before sliding from the horse.

“Aye,” Liam huffs out, peering at his childhood home with squinted eyes, “though there are more bairns than the last time ye have been here. I swear Nicola was plannin’ on buildin’ an army of her own. Made up of her own bairns.”

Zayn giggles quietly as he threads his fingers through Liam’s. He feels nervous approaching the house. Paddy had accepted his return without pressing questions, only ones about the how awful it must have been to be on a ship from America to Scotland.

Liam’s story of his disappearance had been that Zayn had left before the Battle of Culloden to travel to America, following a hint that his family were now in the Colonies. At least, that is what he told his family. The rest of Scotland believed Zayn and Liam Payne died in the Battle of Culloden.

They were not returning as Zayn and Liam Payne, but Zayn and Liam Brannan. A disguise that could easily be seen through, but he hopes it has been long enough that the price on Liam’s head is long forgotten.

“Bairns,” Liam says, his voice turning stern as he looks over his shoulder as to where his nephew and niece, Eoghan and Elspeth, are climbing off of their horses with guilty expressions on their faces, “who do no respect their mother.”

“Och, Uncle Liam,” young Eoghan says, face scrunching in a look of disapproval that resembles the one Liam wears, “I respect my mother just fine. Travelin’ the world makes ye a man.”

Liam snorts loudly, glancing at Zayn with amusement in his eyes before they turn stern again. “Ye no travelin’ abroad, laddie. A whuppin’ from ye mammy makes ye a man as well so prepare for a lesson.”

Young Eoghan’s eyes go wide, but he does not have time to respond before there is a loud cry shooting through the air. It is piercing, like a dog whose paw has been stepped on, followed by a loud string of curses that has Zayn smiling softly.

The wrinkles on Nicola’s face are prominent with the way she scowls. “Every time ye step near my house, I must greet ye with a scolding, Liam Payne! I ken yer mother died early, but why must I treat ye like a son? I have enough of them.”

Nicola falters when her eyes land on Zayn. They grow wide before she lets out an angered laugh. “And ye bring back yer missing husband! Without a warning in advance! Och, Liam Payne, ye will be the death of me.”

Despite the anger in Nicola’s tone, she is grabbing Zayn and hugging him hard. “I must admit, I am no happy ye left my brother but ye have returned to him. Do I need to tell ye no to leave him again?”

“No,” Zayn says quietly, hugging Nicola back. “Nothing will keep me away ag-”

A heavy body hitting the side of him has him grunting loudly and Nicola cussing. The air is filled with loud sobs and it takes Zayn a moment to register that the sobbing mess grabbing onto him is Harry.

“Zayn! Ye are here in the flesh. Tell me ye are no a ghost,” Harry says as he pulls back, grabbing Zayn’s face and squishing it hard between his hands. His brown curls are coated with strands of grey, and the wrinkles around his mouth are just as deep as Liam’s. There are glasses perched on his nose and the stubble on his cheek is thicker than Zayn remembers him ever having.

“I am not a ghost,” Zayn assures, feeling tears well up in his own eyes. When Liam had told him Harry was alive and well in Lallybroch, he had cried happy tears into Liam’s chest.

He had not shed happy tears for Niall, who had actually traveled to the Colonies. All of the prisoners taken after the Battle had been released from prison and sent to America. Thankfully far away from Harry.

“Ye are a witch,” Harry sighs, grabbing Zayn’s gloved hands. He had attempted to hide the tattoos, but they peek out between the gloves and his sleeves. “This looks like dark magic, Zayn.”

Zayn pulls his arms away shyly. “It is not. Come on, Harry. Fill me in on what I have missed. Any new love interests?”

Harry does not respond, but the flush that takes over his cheeks paired with his bright-eyed smile is enough of an answer.

“I have spent my time here at Lallybroch, and it has made me quite happy,” Harry hums, eyes bright. “I will tell ye the stories if ye tell me about the aero planes again.”

Zayn snorts. “Deal.”

 

Between the long trip and the exhausting amount of hugs and kisses between them all, Zayn feels dead on his feet. He forces himself to stay awake as they sit around the fire in Nicola’s living room, listening to Eoghan and Nicola go back and forth with stories. Young Liam, no longer a boy but a grown man, rests against his mother’s legs with his youngest siblings sleeping around his legs. Olivier is curled against Zayn, almost as clingy as Liam has been since his return.

They are all here, his family, but a part of his chest aches as his mind wanders to Maira. He has been needing this, being with Liam, but the ache is invasive and hard to ignore.

“What is it, Sassenach?” Liam breathes against his ear, fingers carding through the hair at the back of his head as Nicola talks. “Ye look wounded.”

Zayn smiles softly, rubbing his fingers over Liam’s leg. “It is nothing.”

A knock at the front door has Liam pulling from Zayn’s embrace. He waves a hand at Eoghan, who attempts to reach out for his cane before he settles back against the couch. Their conversation has fallen quiet as they watch for the door and listen to the soft sound of men falling off of horses outside.

It is late - much too late - for visitors, especially so many.

A woman’s voice responds to Liam’s. It is slightly different than Zayn remembers, but he knows that voice.

He flies from the couch, but his body slows as his eyes meet the woman from over Liam’s shoulder. It is disorienting, the difference between Maira’s face from the last time he saw her and now.

But it is her, and he can tell, even through the wrinkles hanging from her face.

“I thought I would visit and assure you face no trouble in your home,” Maira is saying to Liam. “You were pardoned by the King, but those pathetic fake soldiers who like to give you a hard time can hold grudges.”

“Aye, ye have my thanks. Ye must ken that uncle of yers -”

Maira smile grows before Liam can finish and Zayn pushes closer towards the new company until Maira’s eyes are on him instead of Liam’s.

“Excuse me, Uncle Liam,” Maira says, voice shaking with tears before Zayn is grabbing for her.

It is strange. One of the strangest things Zayn has dealt with out of everything. Seeing Maira at a day old, watching her grow, and now being younger than her without the inbetween. It makes his ache grow.

“I have missed you,” Maira says, weeping quietly as Zayn cups her cheeks. “I am sorry for leaving you that night.”

“We have many things to talk about,” Zayn says softly, holding back tears of his own. Her skin feels fragile under his fingertips. It had felt that way when she was an infant. He had been so afraid of breaking her. “We will, once you have rested.”

Maira nods, wiping at her tears before Zayn pulls her into a full embrace. He holds onto her for a long time, apologizing for many things, but mostly for planning on leaving her. He thinks it is why she went through the stones in the first place, to make sure Zayn didn’t leave her behind.

“Both of ye,” Liam says beside them. “Maira, I will find ye a room to rest. Yer soldiers can take shelter in the barns. There is hay, I am sure.”

Zayn is reluctant to let Maira go, holding tight to her arms as she tries to pull back. “You won’t disappear into the night, will you?”

Maira laughs quietly. “No, you have my word.”

 

It takes a while to say their goodnights and ready for bed. Keeping his eyes open is more difficult as he lies on the hard bed with Liam pressed to his side. Liam’s fingers draw circles over his spine as Zayn tucks his chin against his shoulder.

Forcing his eyes open, he focuses on the portraits lining the wall of Liam’s childhood bedroom. The candle Zayn had been too lazy to blow out yet is enough for him to see parts of the portraits, but he relies on his memory to make up the rest.

“I forgot,” Zayn says, suddenly, as he forces himself to pull away from Liam. He scrambles over the bed to find his satchel where he had thrown it to the side. Liam follows after him as if they are two magnets, his chest molding over Zayn’s back.

“What is it, Sassenach?” Liam hums against his shoulder.

Zayn pulls out the small photo album as he settles back against Liam’s chest. Liam does not stop the peppering of kisses as Zayn flicks through the photo album, not until he stops at a photo of him and his sisters when they were younger.

“I should give this to Maira,” he says softly, rubbing a thumb over Safaa’s young face. “It has been too long since she has seen her mother’s face.”

“What is this?” Liam breathes in amazement, his breath tickling Zayn’s ears. “These portraits - they look so real.”

“They are called photographs,” Zayn corrects quietly. “I do not remember who took this photo. It captures a moment of life, just a second, so you can always have it.”

“Ah, amazing. Which is Maira’s mother?” Liam asks before Zayn indicates Waliyha. “Ah, she is a bonnie lass. Ye did no share a womb like Bashar and his brother? Yer face is much like hers.”

“No,” Zayn laughs quietly before flicking through a few more pages. After a moment, Liam takes the photo album from him and reaches for his glasses.

It is amusing watching Liam peer through the glasses on the tip of his nose and hold the photo album away from his face as if inspecting it. Zayn watches on fondly, his chest filling with a new found love for Liam.

He had thought Liam was being an over-dramatic romantic like always, but he understands what Liam had meant by loving Zayn more than he did the day before.

“Och,” Liam cusses quietly, eyes narrowing in on a photo. When he looks at Zayn, Zayn is thrown off by the look of anger in his eyes. “Ye are naked here, Sassenach. Ye did no tell me ye spend yer time frolicking naked where everyone can see.”

“What?” Zayn grunts, grabbing for the photo album. He falls into a bundle of laughter as he sees the picture of him at the beach with a young Maira on his shoulders. She had been maybe four in the photo and his old dog, Bane, is running around in the background. Waliyha had taken the picture, he thinks, but he barely remembers. “I’m wearing a bathing suit, Liam.”

Liam arches a brow as he takes the album back. “I dinna ken what a ‘bathing suit’ is Sassenach. But I dinna like ye showin’ yer body to others like that. I ken ye may have no been mine at the time, but I dinna like it.”

Zayn snorts, wrapping his body around Liam’s as he looks at the album with him. “You wear bathing suits to go swimming, Liam. It isn’t indecent in my time, look.”

Zayn flicks the next page, where this time, it is Waliyha with Maira. Liam gasps loudly, closing the book so quickly, Zayn isn’t sure he even saw the photo.

“She is wearing nothing but her undergarments, Sassenach!” Liam says, sounding offended. “Ye let men see yer sister like that?”

“My sister would have my ass if I tried to tell her what to do,” Zayn says, giggling quietly. “I am telling you, Liam. It is normal then.”

Liam grunts, mumbling quietly in annoyance. “I dinna like telling ye what to do either, Sassenach, but I hope ye dinna go around like that here. I dinna want to kill any man for tryin’ to touch ye. I have killed too many men in my life.”

Zayn sighs, breathing over a long scar tracing over Liam’s shoulder. He kisses along it gently, tightening his grip on Liam. “Do you want me to remain decent even with you?”

“No,” Liam groans quietly, rubbing his hands over Zayn’s calf before pulling it over his lap so Zayn is truly wrapped around Liam like a koala. “We are one. I believe we will be one forever, Sassenach. I ken I am yers forever.”

Zayn drags his smile over Liam’s skin before propping his chin on Liam’s shoulder to take in his profile. Liam looks down in his lap, rubbing one hand over Zayn’s calf. “Well, I _ken_ I am yers two hundred years in the future, so I am sure I am forever as well.”

With a shaky sigh, Liam bends over until he is curling over Zayn’s leg. He props a cheek on Zayn’s knee, eyes glazing over with tears as he stares up at Zayn. “Thank ye for returning to me, Zayn.”

With shaky fingers, Zayn brushes back the hair falling over Liam’s forehead. Tears form in his own eyes as he smiles and ducks down, ignoring the ache in his back so he can nudge their noses together.

“Do not thank me, Liam Payne. The only place I belong is with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU FOR READING. REMEMBER ILY. LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK?
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**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you think? [My tumblr](http://zipplekink.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/zippiekink) if you'd like it :)


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